


Tumbleweed

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AUs, Age Difference, Always female!Peter, Blow Jobs, Born human!Peter, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Eurovision Song Contest - Freeform, Exhibitionism, F/M, Feral!Peter, First Time, Intercrural Sex, Kidnapping, Lecturer!Peter, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Pack Finding Out, Pack overhearing Derek and Peter fucking, Peter in heat, Porn star!Peter, Porn writer!Chris, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Relationship, Priest!Chris, Prostitution, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Serenading, Sheriff's name is John, Speed Dating, Stripper!AU, Sugar Daddy, Teacher!Chris, Turned female!Peter, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Voyeurism, hunter!Peter, werewolf!Chris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 63
Words: 43,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Claire posts various bits and pieces written for Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chris/Peter - Hunter!Peter-Werewolf!Chris AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which roles are reversed.

Peter knows one of the Argent pack killed his family. There had been a truce in Beacon Hills for as long as Peter can remember. The Argents hadn't hurt anyone and the Hales only went after those that attacked without provocation.

Then Mary Argent had died, and the mantle of being Alpha of the Argent pack hadn't fallen to her son, Chris, like it should have, it had gone to Gerard. And Peter doesn't think he looks much like a grieving widower.

So he speaks to Talia, tells her his concerns. That maybe Mary's death hadn't been as much of an accident as Gerard was claiming. And Talia agrees.

Peter's out in the preserve that night, even if he doesn't know exactly what he's looking for. Because, if he and Talia are right, if Gerard really did kill Mary, then Chris isn't safe either. And even though they've never given a name to what it is that lies between them, they've never denied it either.

The sun is just rising in the sky when Peter gets back to the house, and he knows there's something wrong before he even steps foot off the street. The front door is slightly open and it's too goddamn silent, even for this time of the morning. Not when Andrew should be just coming back from his morning run, up at stupid o'clock every morning, like the masochistic bastard that he is. Not when Laura should be tumbling down the stairs, hair flying behind her and stuffing things into her backpack as she grabs a piece of toast before she dives out of the house.

The door swings open silently, and Peter thinks the red he sees is anger clouding his vision until he realises it's blood. It covers everywhere, splatters so high on the walls it reaches the ceiling, slick puddles on the floor glistening darkly.

He finds Talia first, eyes open and throat ripped out and fingers curled around a dagger it's obvious she never even got to use. Then Andrew, then Michael, then Kayla, all torn apart, all victims of claw and tooth.

There's a glint on the floor that catches his eye, and the St Peter medallion he picks up shines a dull red. And he doesn't want to believe it, but he knows that circle of silver, gave it to Chris when they were eighteen and thought they could take on the world. The matching St Christopher hangs around his own throat. Chris never took his off unless he was shifted. And now it's in Peter's hand, tainted in Talia's blood, in the blood of his sister, his brother, his family.

Except the kids aren't there, and Peter swears if those bastard wolves - because he's not denying it, not with everything in front of him - have touched them, he's going to burn the Argent pack to the ground.

He skids through to the kitchen, claw marks rending the wood against the doors, different depths and different sizes, and Peter knows there was more than one wolf here tonight.

"Laura! Derek!" Oh god, please let them have made it.

There's a muffled sob from behind one of the walls before Peter hears a click and part of the wall opens. And Peter's never been so thankful for his brother-in-law's paranoid nature, for including a panic room lined with wolfsbane and mountain ash. Never been so thankful for the way Talia drilled it into her children's heads. _Get to the panic room. Don't stop. Don't look back._

Derek spills out of the room first, throwing himself into Peter's arms. And Peter doesn't know what they heard, because the room may be lined, but it isn't soundproof.

"Uncle Peter?" And Laura sounds far younger than her eighteen years, carrying Cora, with her head tucked into Laura's neck.

She looks towards the other room, but Peter shakes his head. She doesn't manage to swallow the sob before it wakes Cora, who looks at them both, silent, with dried tears on her face.

Peter leads them out the back door. He won't take them through that, he _won't_. Bad enough that he'll remember it, he doesn't want the kids seeing it as well.

They all but collapse on the front lawn, huddled together. And Peter knows the blood that's on him is rubbing off onto the kids, but he's won't make them move, he _can't_.

The sheriff finds them that way, Cora in Laura's arms as she leans against Peter's side, and Peter's arms wrapped around Derek. Peter doesn't know who called him, but there's another police car as well as his, and two ambulances behind him.

"Peter?"

Sheriff Stilinski's voice is soft, like he already knows what Peter's going to say. But Peter just looks at him, words unable to make it past the jagged rocks in his throat.

John's hand is careful on his shoulder, and Peter thinks he should tell him to watch the blood, that he doesn't want to get it on his uniform, but those words don't make it out either.

John moves away as the EMTs move closer, low and gentle voices that murmur words Peter isn't hearing as they carefully peel the children away from him to check them over. Derek tightens his grip on Peter's jacket, not letting go until Peter nods at him, fingers still tacky with blood as they run through Derek's hair.

Standing, he turns back to the house, briefly meeting John's eyes as the sheriff walks out to speak to one of his deputies, the yellow crime scene tape sealing the house up.

But they don't need to go over it with brush and with tape and with infinite care, because Peter knows what did this, knows _who_ did this. The St Peter necklace burns heavy in his pocket and it's pointing him down a path he once swore to Chris he'd never walk.

But Talia's blood is covering his hands, and the only ones left of his family are three kids sitting in the back of an ambulance.

And Peter hopes Chris isn't involved, prays he's not, but it doesn't matter. The Argents started this, spilled first blood, and whether Chris is involved or not, Peter's going to take them down.


	2. Chris/Peter - Rentboy!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter's not in a coma after the fire, and Claire kind of plays around with their ages somewhat.

It's just Peter and Laura and Derek and Cora after the fire, but Peter's only 18, and suddenly he's got to be the responsible adult.

Only there's a problem with the insurance money, reports saying that the fire might have been set by the Hales themselves to cash in. And every time Peter hears that, he wants to scream. Because how can people seriously say that when they lost everything, when Peter had to listen to the sounds of his family dying around him.

But it's enough of a concern that the company won't pay out until after a full investigation, and that could take months. And CPS have already visited, have already made noises about putting the kids into care while everything is sorted out.

Peter knows he can't let that happen, can't let the only remains of their family, the only remains of their pack, be split up. Not when Kate Argent is still out there. Because he knows it was her, he knows. And when he finds the bitch, he's going to tear out her throat and watch her bleed. But until he knows she's dead, he's got to keep the cubs safe, owes it to Talia to make sure her children are protected.

So they're living out of one room at the motel. But the bank has locked down the family accounts as part of the insurance investigation, and they're rapidly burning through the few hundred dollars Peter managed to scrape together.

He ends up at a bar one night. He's not old enough to drink, and he can't afford to waste the money on alcohol anyway, but the guys at the pool table have been drinking. And Peter's good at pool, always has been.

He only manages to win $50 before the barman realises he's under age and throws him out, telling him not to come back. And it looks like Peter might have to consider that sign he saw in the all-night diner window, the one advertising for help. Only, one of the guys from the bar follows him. And Peter thinks maybe he wants his 20 bucks back, thinks maybe he's in for a fight, but the guy just looks at Peter's lips and holds out some cash.

It's not the first blowjob Peter's given, but it's sure as hell the first he's given in a back alley, with the smell of trash and piss around him. The guy calls him pretty and says he knew Peter was gagging for it as soon as he walked into the bar. Peter just lets the words wash over him, enduring the clumsy, drunken petting until the guy finally comes. The guys frowns at him when Peter pulls back and spits next to him, but he still hands over the money, and Peter's tucking $40 extra dollars into his back pocket for five minutes work.

Peter goes out the next night, and the next. And when someone offers him an extra twenty for swallowing, he does it, because Derek needs some new trainers, and even if the guy does have something, it won't stand up to werewolf healing.

A few weeks down the line, and Peter's an old hand at being on his knees. He's good at ignoring the insults that some of the guys throw at him when he's sucking their dicks, and he's even better at ignoring the kindness, at ignoring the pity he sees in some of their eyes.

He's even got a couple of regulars. The first is the guy from the bar. Peter doesn't know his name, doesn't really care to know it. And then there's Chris. Chris, who just turned up one night and headed straight for where Peter was. Chris, who runs gentle fingers through Peter's hair when Peter's blowing him, and always gives him more money than he asks for.

Chris is the only one Peter lets fuck him. He's said no to everyone else, to every other demand for him to bend over and take it, going so far as breaking one guy's wrist when he just wouldn't take no for an answer.

But there's something about Chris. Something about the way he touches Peter, like Peter's something fragile, like he's not already broken. And when he's under Chris, when Chris is moving in him, Peter can close his eyes and it's almost like it's not about money, not about Peter selling the only thing he has that's worth anything. And if Peter has a ridiculous fantasy of Chris taking him away from everything, then it's his secret.

And then it happens. It happens after Chris has taken him to a motel. (Not the same one they're staying in, Peter's not that stupid.) Chris is in the shower, and the money is on the dresser, and Peter's healing is already kicking in, but Chris was rougher than usual tonight, and Peter bumps into the chair as he's getting dressed. The wallet falls to the floor, knocked out of Chris' back pocket, and Peter's just reaching down to pick it up when the entire world tilts. He doesn't hear the shower turning off, doesn't hear the door to the bathroom opening. He's too focused on Chris' face, looking out at him from the driving licence in the fallen-open wallet.

"Peter?" Chris' voice is careful, and Peter knows. He knows that Chris knew exactly who he was when he started this.

"Argent. Chris Argent."

Chris nods once, reaching out to take the wallet from Peter's hands, shallow scores in the leather from Peter's claws. And Peter doesn't try to hide them. Because Chris knows. He knows who, knows what, Peter is. Just as Peter knows what Chris is.

"Why?" And even as he asks, part of Peter doesn't want to know.

But Chris answers him. And there are words about not knowing what Kate had done until afterwards (Peter doesn't know if he's lying), about wanting to find a way to help (by putting Peter on his knees), about not realising what would happen when he first approached Peter.

Only, Peter can't hear this, not here, not now. He's out of the room and running, ignoring Chris yelling his name.

He waves Laura off when he finally gets back to their motel, heading straight into the bathroom. The glare from the single light-bulb is harsh in the small room, and Peter turns away from the too blue eyes looking back at him from the mirror. He drops his clothes where he stands and steps into the shower. It's too hot and the water pressure is shit, but he stays there until he hears the others go to bed. When he finally gets out, he still doesn't feel clean.

There's an envelope under the door the next morning. It smells like Chris, and all Peter can think as he opens it is that a hunter got this close to them and none of them heard him, knows that they'll have to move, that they can't stay here any more.

The money inside the envelope is far more than Peter's ever charged Chris for fucking him, and part of him wants to go and throw it back in Chris' face, to tell him that he doesn't need help from anyone related to Kate fucking Argent. But Cora needs new trousers and Laura's class are taking a trip to the museum two towns over.

So, he tucks the money into his jeans and thinks that maybe he'll treat the cubs to breakfast at the diner today.


	3. Chris/Peter - Undercover in a BDSM Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter offers to kneel for Chris

Chris hadn't thought earlier that day that the first words out of his mouth when he walked into the loft would be _Someone's trafficking werewolves_. But they are.

There's a phone call from an old friend, a hunter who got out of the business and now runs a club in LA, a club where people go to their knees and the sound of paddles against flesh is common occurrence.

Someone's found a way to keep the wolves in control, and found a set of rich, sadistic people who get off on the thought of having someone who just heals from whatever they give them, to go along with it.

Only, Jack thinks they're working out of his club, and he may have been a hunter, but he's not a bastard. And Chris has agreed to help, has agreed to go in to see if he can find out what's going on.

And Chris knows why Jack came to him. Because he knows how to wield a whip, knows how to make it hurt in a way that's perfect. He knows how to take someone apart, and relishes being the one to put them back together again. He knows how to slide into that club and look exactly like he belongs there.

But if Chris is going in, he needs someone with him. And if they're trafficking wolves, then it makes sense that it's a wolf that goes, makes sense that it's a wolf Chris has on their knees next to him.

Isaac's out, because there's still a part of him that can't differentiate between want and abuse, can't separate out the anger of his father from a harsh touch undercut with desire.

Neither of the twins trust a hunter at their backs and, if Chris is being perfectly honest, he doesn't trust them at his.

Scott hesitates, looking at Allison before turning to Chris with words like I could-- and I suppose-- and a hundred others that are trying to persuade himself more than anyone else in the room.

Only, Chris knows it's not going to be Scott. Knows that Scott would never be at ease enough to carry off what they need to do.

So everyone in the room looks at Derek. And Chris knows that Derek's going to volunteer, to say he'll do it, but they'd never even get through the doors to the club.

Because the look on Derek's face is telling enough, yelling to the room that Derek doesn't want to be seen as weak in kneeling for a hunter. But it's not about being too strong to kneel, it's about having the strength to know you can kneel.

Chris is about to suggest they start looking for another way when Peter's voice drifts across the room.

"I'll do it."

And Chris had almost forgotten Peter was there, silent and watching them all from his position on the stairs.

It's Stiles who comments first, questioning why as Peter stands and makes his way over to his nephew. But Peter doesn't answer him, just looks at Derek.

"If you think I can't do it, you're wrong." Derek's voice is low.

"Oh, I know," Peter answers. "You'd stand there and let Christopher take a whip to you. You'd let him beat you bloody, and through it all, you'd be proud and defiant." Peter pauses. "And that's why they'd see right through you."

And Chris knows Peter is right. He has little doubt that Derek would go through the motions, but he'd fail. Because he wouldn't be able to let go enough to let Chris take him apart, enough to trust Chris to put him back together afterwards.

Peter continues. "You'd take the pain, Derek. In fact, I think you'd take it beautifully. But it wouldn't touch you. You can't fake a reaction to a bullwhip wrapping around your skin; you either pull away or push back into it."

Peter turns to look at Chris. "I'll accompany you to the club, Christopher, but we'll need to go over a few things before. Come to mine tonight." He doesn't give Chris the address, doesn't do Chris the disservice of assuming he doesn't already know it.

"Hold on." Because Stiles always needs to question, to ask. "If you don't think Derek can fake it, what makes you think you can?"

Peter just smiles, his hand already reaching out for the door. "Simple, my dear Stiles. I won't be faking it."

And then Peter's gone, leaving silence and questions and an itch in Chris' blood that he hasn't felt in too long a time.


	4. Chris/Peter - Chris is a Possessive Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris marks up Peter and the pack find out.

They hadn't expected the pack to find out. Because they've been careful to make sure their scents aren't on each other, careful to only meet when there wasn't any indication that pack was going to be called together.

But Chris is more wolf than he'd care to admit, and the only thing he dislikes about fucking Peter is how quickly the marks Chris leaves on him heal. He gets Peter under him, laid out and split open and begging for everything Chris gives him, but 30 minutes later, there's no indication that any of it happened. Every bite and scratch and bruise fades into nothing on Peter's skin.

And Chris had thought he'd hidden the disappointment that he can't mark Peter up, can't send him back into the world with Chris' name emblazoned across his flesh in reds and blues and purples. But Peter is Peter, and if there's one thing the wolf knows, it's how to read people.

So when he turns up at Chris' on a night he knows Allison is staying at Lydia's and hands Chris a bottle, Chris just lets him in. The bottle feels heavy in his grip, a wolfsbane mixture that will halt Peter's healing for a couple of days, will halt his healing enough for Chris' marks to linger.

That Peter gave Chris this, _trusted_ Chris with this, almost made him pause. Almost. He keeps his eyes on Peter's as he twists open the bottle, pouring it into Peter's glass and mixes it with the scotch already in there. Peter doesn't break their gaze as he lifts it to his lips and drinks.

The next morning, Chris trails his fingertips gently down Peter's back, the wolf still asleep next to him. Dozens of marks litter Peter's skin, signalling Chris' possession to anyone who cared to look. Tugging the sheet carefully down, Chris feels his cock twitch with each new mark that's revealed. His touch skims over the finger-shaped bruises wrapped around Peter's hip, skirts over the bite mark on Peter's ass cheek before dipping down.

Peter's still loose, open and slick from where he'd taken Chris the night before. The flesh under Chris' fingers tempts him, hot and swollen, and he pushes two fingers inside Peter, sliding in on the lube and come still in Peter's body.

Peter moans, still more asleep than awake, and pushes back, and Chris slowly pumps his fingers in and out of Peter's ass, as his own cock steadily hardens.

"Chris, please--" Peter's voice is heavy with sleep, low and languid and undercut with need.

Chris pulls his fingers out, and grabs the lube from where he dropped it on the bedside cabinet the previous night, slicking himself up. Nudging Peter's thighs further apart with a knee, he presses close, sliding into Peter's body in one easy glide.

"Yes--"

One of Peter's hands reaches back blindly, and Chris grips it, tangling their fingers together. Chris moves slowly, steadily, cleaving into the heat of Peter's body.

Dropping their joined hands to Peter's cock, Chris wraps their fingers around the hardness he finds, lazily jacking Peter in time with each press into his body.

Chris rests his forehead against Peter's shoulder for a moment, before kissing at the skin there. Soft moans and gasps are dropping from Peter's lips and Chris knows he's close, know it won't be long before--

Peter shudders in Chris' arms, his body clenching down on Chris as come runs over their fingers and Peter groans.

Chris isn't far behind Peter, pressing hard into his body and biting down on Peter's shoulder as he empties himself inside the wolf.

Peter is gone by the time Allison gets home, and Chris has to concentrate on listening to his daughter. Has to concentrate on Allison instead of remembering the way his marks looked on Peter, instead of remembering the way Peter's voice had sounded wrecked after he'd blown Chris.

And then an emergency pack meeting is called because a body is found on the edge of the Preserve. And it's fine, right up until the time Stiles accidentally pulls on Peter's shirt.

The silence in the loft as everyone stares at the still livid bite mark on Peter's shoulder is palpable.

Derek demands to know what happened. Because they've been at the loft for nearly four hours now, so anything that could have bitten Peter and still had the mark there is a concern.

And Peter doesn't even look at Chris as he starts to answer, telling Derek it was a night of fun, helped along by some wolfsbane, and if everyone was really that interested in his sex life, he'd be more than willing to provide details.

He doesn't look at Chris because they agreed that this was nothing to do with the pack, that this was between the two of them. But hearing Peter claim that someone else, that a stranger, left their mark on him, makes something in Chris pulse low and hot.

The pack seem split on wanting Peter to shut up and wanting him to say more, and no one is saying anything about the speculative look in Stiles' eyes as he glances at Derek.

But it's Lydia's comment about Peter actually finding someone desperate enough to sleep with him that has Chris moving. He's next to Peter in a few steps, his hand on Peter's shoulder and his thumb rubbing over the bite mark, feeling the shiver that runs through Peter at his touch.

"I gave him it. Any more comments, or shall we get back to the matter at hand?"

No one says anything, they just look between the two of them with the occasional glance towards Allison. But the look on Allison's face isn't surprise or shock, but understanding. And Chris thinks that maybe he hasn't given his daughter enough credit.

Derek keeps his gaze on them for long moments, before turning back to the map on the table and redirecting the pack's attention away from Chris and Peter and towards what they'd all been called there for.

And if Chris keeps reaching out, keeps touching Peter and pressing against the bruises Chris knows are under Peter's clothes in ways that has Peter's breath hitching, well, no one says anything

So Chris just smiles, and reaches out again.


	5. Chris/Peter - Stripper!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris has a birthday and Peter takes his clothes off

It's Erica that tells them there's been a screw up, that a glitch in the new computer system they only got installed a couple of weeks ago means that Derek's been double booked. Only, the twins are out at that 60th birthday party booking, and Boyd's not working because his entire family is visiting his grandmother.

And maybe Talia has a brief moment of cursing that the business has become so successful that the issue now is double booking instead of whether they were going to pull in enough money to pay everyone that month. But everyone they've got is either already out on jobs or not working, and there's not enough time to ring around to see who can come in on their day off.

Then Peter walks in, pen between his teeth and not paying attention to where he's going as he reads the papers he's carrying. And when he looks up, when Talia looks at him and says "We've had a double booking..." he knows exactly what she's thinking.

Only, he hasn't been out on a job since the fire. And even though the burns healed, and the most of the scarring got covered by the surgeries afterwards, Peter still feels them enough to have "No..." be the first word out of his mouth.

But Talia's his older sister, has lived Peter's entire life knowing exactly how to push each and every button Peter has.

Which is how Peter finds himself driving to an address, dressed as a policeman.

The first thing the woman who opens the door says is "You're not the guy I ordered..." before she looks him up and down and grins, declaring "You're even better, you're totally Chris' type."

It turns out 'Chris' is the guy Peter's going to be dancing for, because it's his 40th birthday and "what else are younger sisters for other than to embarrass the hell out of older brothers?"

And once the music starts Peter wonders how he could have ever considered not doing this. Because each beat flows through him, each cheer from the group watching him carries him higher. And it helps that the guy he's there for is ridiculously hot. Helps that the sharp blue eyes watch every movement Peter makes.

It's over too soon and Chris is waiting for him when he steps out of the bathroom, police uniform all folded away, and wearing jeans and a shirt.

Chris says he wants to thank him, and maybe it's the way Peter is still high on the music, still riding the wave of endorphins. Or maybe it's the way there's heat in Chris' gaze, the way he can't stop looking at Peter's lips. Either way, Peter's pulling Chris into the bathroom, pushing him against the door and dropping to his knees to suck him off.

There are fingers running through his hair, careful and guiding, and Peter's hands are pulling at his own jeans, working his own cock, while his tongue works Chris'.

Peter tries not to think about it afterwards, tries not to think about heated blue eyes watching him as he swallowed Chris down, tries not to think about strong hands cupping the back of his head as he worked teeth and tongue and lips.

And he nearly succeeds. He nearly succeeds right up until he's standing in Starbucks, rolling his eyes at the way the guy in front of him seems to be ordering the most complicated drink Peter's ever heard of, and then there's a hand on his arm and Chris is there.

And when he asks Peter to join him, Peter says yes.

And that's where it starts, but that's not where it ends. And Peter still strips, but nowadays, it's only for Chris.


	6. Chris/Peter - Arranged Marriage!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is handed over to the Argents
> 
> For [Halefire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Halefire/).

There's guilt on Talia's face every time she looks at Peter, and part of him want to comfort her, to tell her it was her only choice, but the rest of him wants her to feel it, to know that she's sold her younger brother, sold him to the fucking Argents, of all people.

Only, he knows that's not fair, knows that she had no choice. It had taken years for the peace accords between the wolves and the hunters to be signed into law, and as the leading families in the two factions, it had been heavily suggested that they lead the way.

The look Talia gives him as she walks out of the meeting with Mary Argent says it all. But, deep down, Peter knows it wouldn't have been any other way. She wouldn't have even considered giving them Laura, wouldn't just hand over the next Hale Alpha. And Derek isn't a possibility. He's Talia's favourite, even if she says she loves all her children the same, and Cora is just a child. But, Peter? Well, with Peter she gets to obey the letter of the treaty and still have her perfect family around her.

Peter is the expendable one.

The vase shatters beautifully against the wall from where Peter hurls it.

~

The day comes quickly, overseen by Peter's silence and Talia's guilt and Andrew's insistence that his wife is only doing what she needs to do, and why can't Peter understand that. Peter ignores him.

The Argents' home is bigger than Peter expects, and when he arrives, he sweeps in like a conquering king, because he'll be damned before he's seen as a spoil of war.

Mary Argent greets him, and there's something about her that reminds him of his own mother, regal and kind, but with a steel determination that would see the blood of those who oppose her running through her fingers.

Her husband, on the other hand, makes Peter's skin crawl as soon as he touches him. And Peter barely bites back the snarl that wells in his throat as Gerard grabs his chin, turning his head to either side, before he deems Peter as acceptable.

Peter is surprised by the number of people who have turned out to see him handed over, to see him gifted to the Argent heir like little more than a trinket. But the peace treaties are new, and Peter knows there are many people who have waited for years to see the Hales subjugate themselves. Well, let them look, because if they've come to see him kneel, they'll go home disappointed.

The room they put him in is admittedly nicer than the one he had back at his sister's. (Hardly home then, never home now.) The bed is soft, the tub in the adjoining room is sinfully large, and there are bookcases that line the walls, but none of those details mask that the only lock on the door works from the outside.

He doesn't see the man he's being married off to until the day of the wedding, until Christopher Argent takes Peter's hand in his and claims him for his own. And at least he's attractive. At least, if Peter has to spread his legs, then he'll have something pretty to look at.

There's a moment, when Peter is asked for his consent, when he's asked if he goes into this of his own free will, that the words almost die in his throat. When he almost laughs and walks out, damn the accords, damn his sister, damn the entire fucking province.

But instead, he swallows it down, wraps his tongue around a yes and wonders if the lie is as audible to anyone else as it is to himself. The look Christopher gives him makes him think that maybe it was.

Then it's done. It's done, but it's not over, not by a long shot.

And Peter thinks that maybe Talia knew what she was doing all along. Because Laura would have fought this, and Derek would have just accepted it. But not Peter. When the night comes around he'll lie under Christopher and act like the bitch they expect him to be. He'll keen and mewl and bare his neck, and he'll bide his time. And then he'll see the blood of every single Argent slide across his claws, thick and hot and perfect.

But, until then, Peter will wait.

~

(And then it totally doesn't go the way Peter expects it to. Because Chris doesn't fuck him that night, or any other night. He's an absolute gentleman and when Peter finally cracks and asks him why he hasn't, Chris says it's because Peter obviously doesn't want to be there, that this wasn't either of their choices. Because Chris may be a bastard and a soldier and a killer, but he has no intention of sleeping with someone who is unwilling.

They start talking, and Peter finds that he actually likes Christopher ("Chris. Call me Chris."), which puts a massive chink in his plan. They spend time together, playing chess and talking strategy, and damn it, this wasn't what was meant to happen.

Then Mary Argent is killed, and it's Gerard who does it. Gerard, who is trying to break the accords, and has commented that if his son won't take Peter for his whore, then Gerard is more than willing to step up.

And Chris and Peter end up fighting side by side. And when it's all done, when Gerard is dead, and those loyal to Chris have won, Chris and Peter are sitting side by side on the stairs. And Chris asks Peter if he wants an annulment to the marriage, that he won't hold the accords over Peter's head, that if Peter wants to leave he won't stop him. (Even though Chris knows that watching Peter walk away will hurt far more than sliding a sword into his own father had. Even though he's been half in love with Peter ever since the wedding night when Peter looked at him with fire in his eyes and said "Fuck me if you want, but don't ever expect me to kneel for you." Even though he fell the rest of way over chess and discussions and watching the light in Peter's eyes every time he truly smiles.)

And Peter just tells him to shut up and kisses him.)


	7. Chris/Peter - Elementary School Teacher!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is a teacher and shouldn't be checking out Peter's ass (but he still does)
> 
> For [aneurysmface](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aneurysmface).

The first time Chris sees Peter Hale, the other man is kneeling just outside of Chris' classroom trying to console a distraught Cora Hale and reassure her that, yes, he _would_ be there to pick her up at the end of the day.

Chris isn't trying to eavesdrop, really he isn't, but it's hard to ignore Cora's crying, especially when she's one of Chris'.

Chris heads over towards the open door, crouching when he reaches the two of them.

Cora sniffles out a hello when she sees him, and between the two of them they manage to persuade her that nothing bad will happen if she walks into Chris' classroom, manage to persuade her that her uncle _will_ be there for her. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, Cora nods, hugging her uncle tightly before she goes into the room, glancing back at the two of them constantly until she reaches one of the tables and sits down.

"Thank you." The words are heavy. "She hasn't wanted to leave my side since--" Mr Hale trails off, as he scrubs a hand over his face. He looks exhausted, almost like he's only three steps away from collapsing in a heap. But, then again, Chris thinks, who can blame him. Chris can't even imagine what it's like, trying to deal with everything surrounding the house fire that all but wiped out his family, as well as being thrown into being the primary caretaker for three children that had just lost their parents.

"We'll take care of her, Mr Hale," Chris reassures him.

"Peter," comes the answer. "Mr Hale is-- was my father."

There's silence for a moment, and Chris wonders if saying _I'm sorry--_ would sound as pathetically inadequate out loud as it does in his head.

He doesn't need to say anything, though, as Mr Hale - _Peter_ \- meets his gaze, sharp blue eyes focusing on Chris. "What time should I be here for?"

"Classes finish at three," Chris tells him, getting a soft _thanks_ before Peter leaves.

Peter's there at 2:30, waiting outside Chris' classroom.

When he opens the door to let the kids out, Chris notices some of the parents giving Peter subtle glances, ones that abate as Cora runs out yelling _Uncle Peter!_ and throws herself at him.

Peter picks her up and swings her around, causing a peel of laughter that Chris hasn't heard in his classroom in too long. Putting her back down, Peter tells her to go and collect her things, heading over to Chris as soon as Cora scampers off.

"Were there any problems today?" Peter asks quietly, as soon as he reaches Chris.

Chris shakes his head. "She was a little quieter than she normally is, but other than that, no."

Peter glances over to where Cora is talking to one of her friends. "I've given all my contact details to the school office, so if anything does--"

"We'll call you." Chris assures him.

Cora runs back to them, barrelling into her uncle's legs. "Uncle Peter, can we go and get ice cream?"

"We'll have to go and get Derek and Laura first," Peter answers. "You know how Derek gets if he misses out on ice cream."

Cora grins, grabbing Peter's hand to pull him away.

"And I think that's my cue to leave," Peter comments.

"Bye, Mr Chris!" Cora yells.

"Yes, goodbye, Mr Argent, and thank you." A soft smile crosses Peter's face, and Chris can't help but think that he wants to see that look again.

"Chris." His name is out of Chris' mouth before he can think about it. "Call me Chris."

The smile widens as Peter nods at him. "Chris." It's like he's testing the name out on his tongue, which gives Chris images of other things on Peter Hale's tongue, and jesus, he needs to stop thinking about getting a blow job from one of his kids' guardians in the middle of the school corridor.

Cora tugs on Peter's hand again, and he nods again towards Chris before letting his niece pull him away, animatedly chatting at him as she goes.

Chris runs fingers through his hair as he watches them. Cora's one of the kids in his class, one that's just gone through a terrible loss. Chris certainly shouldn't be watching her uncle walk away from him and thinking how good his ass looks in those jeans.

Well, fuck.

~

(And then things like parents night happens, and Peter volunteering to help out at a bake-sale, and Chris can't help but watch when Peter ends up eating a cupcake and licking icing off his lips.

And they totally end up together.)


	8. Chris/Peter - Handcuffed Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris and Peter end up handcuffed together

There are days, Peter thinks, that he could cheerfully rip Stiles’ throat out. Yes, the boy has his uses, and his ability to think outside the box, and Derek seems inordinately fond of him, but still.

Because Stiles also has his unending curiosity, and his inability to leave anything alone. Which puts Peter in his current predicament.

 _I didn’t mean for that to happen,_ Stiles had said. And no, Stiles, hiding behind Derek won’t stop Peter’s claws from reaching you.

 _I was just experimenting,_ Stiles had continued. And Peter can feel the headache now, as he tries not to think about exactly why Stiles would need handcuffs that werewolves can’t break out of in Derek’s loft.

 _Sorry?_ Stiles had finished with, admittedly sounding a little contrite.

Not that that helps Peter in any way.

Argent grumbles next to him, shaking Peter’s wrist slightly as he tries to pick the lock on the handcuffs attaching them to each other.

"If you couldn’t do it the last four times, I fail to see why number five is going to be any better!" Peter snaps, pulling his wrist out of Argent’s grasp a little too forcefully and muttering as the other man almost lands on top of him and presses him into the couch.

"Because I don’t exactly relish being chained to you for the next week!" Argent replies, pushing himself up off Peter.

"It’ll be fine," Stiles tries to reassure them. "It’s only a week, and then Scott will be back with the keys."

Because of course Stiles hadn’t thought to get the keys out of the glove compartment before lending Scott his jeep. And of course Scott was unreachable. And of course this was Peter’s goddamn life right now.

Argent sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Peter glares at him. “Seven days,” he says. “We can last seven days, Hale.”

Seven days. Seven days of living with Argent (and seeing him every second of the day). Seven days of sleeping in the same bed as him (and seeing him mussed and sleep-warm when he just wakes up). Seven days of watching him in the morning (as his fingers curl around his mug, the sharp smell of coffee running over his lips and the incandescent little moan he gives as the caffeine hits his system). Seven days of showering with him (all wet and soapy and watching as the bubbles slide over his stomach and down towards his— )

Peter drops his head to rest on the back of the couch. Seven days. He is so fucked.


	9. Chris/Peter - Bachelor Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the pack throw Chris and Peter a bachelor party, and Chris just keeps talking

It wasn’t as if Peter had wanted to go, wasn’t like a bachelor party was something he’d felt he needed, but Derek had just looked at him until he’d agreed. And Peter supposes that’s Stiles’ influence. Because as soon as Stiles had found out that Peter and Chris were going to make it legal, the word “Party!” was the first one out of his mouth.

And the ridiculous thing was, when the pack had arranged it (and Chris and Peter had let them, because it seemed easier to just roll with it than to argue), they’d somehow decided that the simplest thing to do was to throw both Chris and Peter a bachelor party in the same place on the same night.

Only Stiles had mentioned tradition and bad luck and them not being to see each other beforehand. So, yes, they were in the same place on the same night, but they’d ended up with Peter on one side of the bar and Chris on the other, with the rest of the pack bouncing between them through the night.

And it’s insane, because Peter can _smell_ Chris, even over the alcohol and the sweat and the bitter tang of cigarette smoke drifting in every time the door opens. He can smell the shampoo Chris uses and the cologne that he’s wearing, and every instinct in him is telling him to find Chris and drag him out of there until there’s nothing around them but the forest and the night.

But what’s even worse is that he can hear Chris. Chris, who isn’t entirely sober right now, and who has decided to take advantage of werewolf hearing and the fact that Peter is attuned to every noise Chris makes, to take the opportunity to murmur every filthy thought about what he wants to do to Peter.

And even if Peter wanted to stand up right now he couldn’t, because he’s so damn hard it feels like all the blood in his body is focused in his cock. And Chris’ voice _just keeps going_. Low and careful and loose as he murmurs how he wants to put Peter on his knees, wants to watch as Peter swallows him down. Murmurs about how he’d pull out, just before he comes, so he can mark Peter’s face, rub himself into Peter’s skin. Because even if Chris isn’t a wolf, he wants every werewolf Peter meets to know exactly who Peter belongs to. And he murmurs about how the hottest thing isn’t Peter on his knees, or Chris’ come on Peter’s face, it’s that Chris knows Peter would let him do it.

And maybe he should get someone to tell Chris to stop, because the look Derek is giving him is telling Peter that every single wolf in the pack is hearing exactly what Chris is saying and, more than likely, scenting Peter’s reaction to it. But, instead, he just grins, closes his eyes, and lets Chris’ voice carry him.


	10. Chris/Peter - Model!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris shoots and Peter poses

It's days like this that Chris has got to keep reminding himself that he loves his job.

He’s worked with Peter Hale a few times before, and each time was worse than the last. Because Hale’s good and looks fucking amazing on film, but he’s a bastard to work with. There’ll be questions about the lights and the clothes and the angles, about every decision and every movement. And he’ll want to see each and every picture.

John Stilinski refuses to work with him any more, citing ‘artistic differences.’ What John actually means is that he came too close to punching Hale after one too many comments, and the smirk on Hale’s face had told John that the other man knew it and just found it all amusing.

But the shoot still needs to be done, which is why Chris is standing in a warehouse, steadily counting to 10 as Hale picks apart the strength of the lighting, the cut of the jacket, and why is he meant to stand behind a pillar if he’s supposed to be showing off the clothes.

Only, Chris is running on little sleep and no coffee. Allison rang him at 1:00am following what seems like the hundredth break-up and get-back-together-again with Scott, the washing machine flooded the utility room yesterday and, to top it off, his car wouldn’t start. So the last thing he needs is Peter Hale being a fucking diva.

"For fuck’s sake, Hale, just shut up, stand there and look pretty."

There’s silence in the warehouse following Chris’ outburst, and Chris is pretty sure that everyone else is just waiting for Hale to storm out. But he doesn’t. He just looks at Chris, nods his head, and takes position against the metal beam next to him.

The rest of the shoot goes perfectly, and Chris doesn’t think he’s ever had a day where nearly every single shot is usable.

Melissa is thrilled, picking out the best dozen photos for the magazine spread.

"So," she comments lightly, "Erica and Boyd told me what happened."

Which is how Chris becomes the go-to photographer to anything related to Peter Hale.

And Chris is fine with that, he is. Okay, so he’s maybe thinking about Hale a little more than normal, and the jerk off sessions he’s had recently have been containing thoughts of a hard body and blue eyes looking up at him, but he’s still fine with it. He’s fine with it right up until Melissa hands him a new assignment.

Because taking photographs of Peter Hale when he’s fully clothed is one thing, but as soon as Chris’ eyes fall on the word ‘naked’, he knows he’s fucked.

~

The day the shoot rolls around, Chris finds himself parked outside the studio, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. This is ridiculous. He’s a grown man, a professional who has shot thousands of people over hundreds of different scenarios. So why the hell does the thought of looking at a nude Peter Hale through his lens make gooseflesh rise on his skin.

Yes, okay, the guy is attractive, but he’s also a sarcastic, annoying bastard. He’s a sarcastic, annoying, hot bastard who takes Chris’ direction in a way that makes Chris wonder what he would do if Chris told him to get to his knees.

Well, fuck.

Chris barely bites back the groan as he walks into the studio and sees the large bed dominating the space. Because if it wasn’t enough to give him Peter Hale naked, fate (also known as Melissa McCall) had to give him Peter Hale naked and _on a bed _.__

__"I got all the lights set up, boss," Erica says from behind him._ _

__Chris pulls his gaze away from the bed and looks at her. It’s Erica, so there’s no hope in hell that she didn’t notice the look on his face earlier, so he can just pray she’s feeling altruistic enough today not to mention it._ _

__He doubts it, from the smirk on her face, but the door opening saves him from whatever comment she’d been about to make._ _

__"I’m here," Hale announces as he walks in, stopping as he notices the bed. "Melissa," he comments quietly, to no one in particular, "you little minx."_ _

__A soft smile is on Hale’s face as he walks past Chris, heading towards a changing room Chris hadn’t noticed before._ _

__Telling his mind to stop imagining the other man undressing, to stop imagining the clothes sliding off his body, Chris checks his camera, his fingers running over it, grounding him. He can get the full bed in shot if he stays back here, but he doesn’t want to. Wants to be up close, wants to see Hale’s fingers slide over the soft sheets._ _

__"Well, Christopher, where do you want me?"_ _

__Chris turns to see Hale wrapped in a bathrobe, tied loosely around his waist._ _

__"On the bed," he says, hoping the low growl in his voice isn’t noticeable to anyone else._ _

__Hale grins. “Why, Christopher, and you haven’t even bought me dinner first.” He heads towards the bed, a flick of his fingers opening the bathrobe before it slides off his shoulders to fall in a puddle on the floor behind him._ _

__Hale’s shoulders are slightly broader than Chris had thought, muscles playing across his back as he walks. But it’s Hale’s ass that Chris is drawn to. Tight and solid, and Chris can feel his cock twitching at the thought of burying himself inside._ _

__A snort from his side draws his attention back to Erica, back to the smirk and the raised eyebrow that says she knows exactly what is going through Chris’ head right now._ _

__Yep, he’s definitely fucked._ _


	11. Derek/Peter - Derek is also a Possessive Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Derek wants Peter

Derek's been attracted to Peter for as long as he can remember, but it's his _uncle_ , and he knows he shouldn't be. And Peter knows it, he can smell it on Derek every time they're in a room together.

And part of Peter thinks he should want it, only he doesn't know if it's because it's Derek, or because they're the last vestiges of their pack, and Peter wants to hold that to him and never let go.

Talia used to think it was funny, the crush her son had on her brother. She'd tease Peter about it (but never Derek, she never even mentioned it to Derek), about how if he ever took her baby boy out, he'd better make sure to treat him right. She was all smiles and soft laughter about it, because it's not as though it would actually happen. _He'’ll get over it,_ she used to say.

Only Derek didn't get over it. And Peter saw the look in his nephew's eyes the first time he came home after spending the night with someone. Saw the way Derek's nostrils flared and the look of angry possession in his eyes. Saw the way Derek stormed out of the room, slamming the door to his bedroom and not coming out for hours.

And he's still not over it. There are casual touches during pack meetings, brief contact designed to subtly scent mark Peter as Derek's. And the pack have noticed. Have noticed the way their alpha growls low in his throat whenever Peter flirts with someone, whenever someone flirts back. Have noticed the way his hands are always on Peter in some way, much more than Derek ever touches any other pack members.

And Peter knows he should stop it, knows he should tell Derek that it'll never happen. But Peter's already taken so much from his nephew that he knows he can't take this as well.

So the next time Derek reaches out, Peter drops his head, turning and nuzzling into Derek's palm, his entire body telegraphing easy submission. Because he owes Derek this, he owes _Talia_. Owes it to his sister to make sure one of her last remaining children gets what he desires.

It's not how Peter ever thought it would turn out, with him on his knees for his nephew and Derek's scent over his entire body, but it makes Derek happy. And when Derek murmurs _Yes--_ and _Peter--_ and _Mine--_ into Peter's skin, Peter pushes back into him, and lets Derek take what he needs.


	12. Chris/Peter - International Kissing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter jumps in front of a hydra for Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for International Kissing Day on July 6th.

Peter doesn't think about it as he dives in front of the hydra's claws, feeling them slice across his stomach in a slash of fire just as he hears the click of Chris sliding a new magazine into his gun.

He doesn't remember anything beyond that. Doesn't remember anything beyond the sound of gunfire and Chris yelling his name. Doesn't remember anything apart from the searing pain and the dizzying rush as the blackness swallowed him.

There's the smell of blood and antiseptic surrounding Peter when he comes back to consciousness. That, and the cool metal he's lying on, tells him he's at Deaton's. There are voices, but they're soft, muted, and Peter can't make out the words over the banging headache thumping in his brain.

He doesn't know if it's the moan he gives when he tries to move, or the changing rhythm of his heartbeat that gives him away to one of the other wolves, but Chris is next to him within seconds.

"Hey, no, don't try to move." Chris' hand is warm on his shoulder, heat seeping through the shirt that's been ripped open but not taken off him completely.

"What--" But the words won't come out, can't force their way past the dry, jagged rock that's taken up residence in Peter's throat.

Chris' hand moves, his thumb stroking over Peter's neck. "Deaton patched you up, but it's still going to be a couple of hours before you're good to move."

There's the scrape of metal sliding across the floor and Chris sits next to him on the stool he must have hooked and pulled over with a foot.

Fingers run through his hair, soft and soothing, and Peter would purr if it didn't hurt him to even breathe.

Chris is watching him, concern flickering in his eyes. And Peter still can't believe that it's for him, that Chris' worry is for a wolf, for a Hale.

Chris' hand doesn't stop moving, petting Peter gently as he speaks. "You didn't have to--"

But Peter cuts Chris off with just a look, not deigning to answer with words that probably wouldn't make it out anyway. Because, yes, he did have to. Because Chris wouldn't have had time to reload before the hydra would have been on him. And in a choice between Peter taking a fist full of hydra claws to his gut and Chris doing the same, well, it's not really a choice at all.

Only, maybe Peter doesn't need the words, maybe Chris sees it in his eyes. Sees that, so long as Peter is there, Chris will always have someone watching his back. A soft smile crosses Chris' face as he leans down, brushing his lips carefully across Peter's.

"Sleep, Peter. I'll be here when you wake up."

And with Chris' fingers in his hair and the feel of Chris' lips on his, Peter closes his eyes and sleeps.


	13. Chris/Peter - Priest!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is a priest and Peter is still Peter

Chris is new to Beacon Hills, having come to town just after the last priest retired. And ever since he arrived it's been a non-stop revolving door on the church with people coming to welcome him to the town. He's shaken so many hands and been invited over for dinner to so many houses that he's lost track of who most people actually are.

He recognises the Sheriff and his wife, even with the man out of his uniform each Sunday morning as they listen to Chris' sermon while trying to wrangle the small fidgeting whirlwind that is their son. And he recognises the Hales, sitting in the front left hand pew as he speaks. Talia had been the first person he'd met in the town, strong and regal, with a hint of mirth in her eyes that reminded Chris of his own mother.

She'd introduced her husband and her children, and had mentioned a brother, along with the commentary that "church doesn't really hold Peter's interest." So he'd never expected to meet the elusive Hale brother, although his door was always open to anyone wishing to come to him. Which means he's thrown off slightly when he sees the young man sitting next to Talia. Thrown off by sharp blue eyes that watch Chris intently as he speaks, thrown off by the tongue that slips out to wet Peter Hale's lower lip every few minutes.

Chris gets to the end of his sermon, his gaze only drifting over to where Peter Hale is sitting a few times. He speaks to people as they're leaving, and Talia nods at him as she walks to her car. Her family are with her, but there's no sign of her brother, so he must have left without Chris noticing.

He walks back into the church once everyone is gone, the scent of smoke and balsam soft in the air. The burnt out candles are sitting on the altar, and Chris is gathering them together when he realises he's not alone.

Peter Hale is sitting a few rows back from where he had been during Chris' sermon, head tilted back and eyes closed.

"Mr Hale?"

The other man's eyes open slowly as he lifts his head to look at Chris, bright blue shining in the light refracting through the stained glass, and a smile crossing his face as he stands.

"You know who I am. Has my reputation preceded me?" Hale's voice is smooth, honey tones to it that run through Chris' body.

"Your sister may have mentioned you," Chris replies, hoping the hitch in his breath hadn't been noticed.

Hale runs his fingers along the edges of the pews as he walks down the aisle, each step bringing him closer to Chris. "Ah, Talia. And what did my darling sister have to say about me? Nothing too bad, I hope."

"Nothing beyond church not exactly holding any interest for you." Hale's eyes flick down to Chris' fingers, and Chris realises he's still holding one of the candles, his fingertips running over the smooth wax. He ignores the slight upturn of Hale's lips as he puts the candle back on the altar. "So, I must admit I was surprised to see you today."

"Not a bad surprise, though, surely." Hale turns slightly, resting his ass against the front pew, the ridge of wood pressing into the tight jeans he's wearing.

"It's never a bad thing when someone opens themselves to the word of God." And those words shouldn't have been so difficult to get out, shouldn't have had to fight past Chris' suddenly dry mouth.

Hale huffs a laugh. "Oh, I've always been open to the word of God, but Father Michaels was about eighty and if I'm going to waste two hours in a stuffy old building, I at least think there should be something pretty to look at." Hale pushes himself away from the pew, his gaze running over Chris. "And here you are."

It takes Chris long seconds to get enough moisture in his mouth to be able to get the words out. Long moments of Hale's gaze, frank and appreciative, as he looks at Chris. "I don't think that's entirely appropriate, Mr Hale. I think that, maybe, you should leave." Because Chris' cock is starting to take notice, and getting hard in the church isn't exactly the way Chris wants to go.

"And why would I do that, just when we're getting to know each other?" Each word carries Hale closer and closer, the distance between them lessening as Hale walks up the few steps to the altar.

Chris is silent as Hale reaches him. As Hale reaches him and leans closer, inhaling deeply.

"You smell divine, Christopher." There's a pause, as one of Hale's fingers runs over Chris' shoulder. "You don't mind if I call you Christopher, do you?" Chris doesn't answer, knowing any words he may speak would make no difference.

"Mr Hale--"

"Call me Peter." The other man is so close now, his breath ghosts over Chris' neck.

"Mr Hale, is there a reason you're here?" Besides standing so close Chris can feel his body heat. Beside making Chris think of the other man on his knees, tongue darting out to lick at things other than his lips.

Hale steps back, a delighted smile on his face. "Yes, actually there is. Andrew, bless my brother-in-law's idiotic soul, seems to think I'd gain something from speaking to a man of the cloth." He spreads his arms. "So, here I am."

"And are you burdened by something in particular, Mr Hale?" Because even if Chris wants the other man to leave, to leave and never set foot in this church ever again, he's not about to turn away someone who genuinely needs him.

Hale frowns, a soft pout crossing his face when Chris doesn't use his given name. But it's soon gone, replaced by a sharp grin. "Oh, by so many things." He glances away. "How does this go again? Oh, yes." He looks back at Chris, bright blue eyes holding Chris' gaze as Hale sinks to his knees. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been--" the pause is accompanied by a barely there smirk, "a while since my last confession."

And Chris should move, should tell Hale to get off his knees, should tell him to leave. But he can't. Can't do anything except watch as the smirk morphs into something partway between want and triumph.

Chris' hands grip the altar behind him as Hale crawls forward, lithe grace in each movement. He holds the wood, feeling the weave of the altar cloth under his fingers as his grip tightens, as Hale reaches him, his gaze never once wavering from Chris'.

Reaching out, Hale's fingers run over the hardness straining behind Chris' trousers. Run over the fabric until they're at his belt, stopping there as Hale speaks.

"Tell me to stop, Christopher. Tell me, and I'll leave this place and never come back."

There's resolution in Hale's voice, like he'll do exactly what he promises if only Chris says the words.

"Tell me."

And Chris closes his eyes, and stays silent.


	14. Chris/Peter - Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter tries to propose

It is, Peter thinks, getting ridiculous. All he wants to do is propose and every time, _every time_ , something happens.

Romantic dinner in the restaurant he had to book four months in advance? Derek gets thrown through the window by a rogue pack looking to take Beacon Hills as their territory.

Picnic next to the lake in the Preserve? Ruined by a kelpie trying to eat them.

Peter cooking for Chris at his place? Interrupted by the pack needing their help in taking down a coven of witches.

Peter cooking for Chris at Chris' place? Interrupted by the pack again because, apparently, the coven of witches they took down the previous week hadn't actually been the entire coven, and the ones that were left were pissed.

Dinner in the diner? (Because Peter can't wait another four months to get in to that place on Main Street. He's also pretty sure all Hales are banned from there after Derek bled all over their 500-threadcount tablecloths.) Turns out John and Melissa are also out that night, and they end up sitting at a table for four.

It's like it's a sign. Like the universe is telling him that even though he likes it, he's not allowed to put a ring on it. (And if Stiles ever tells anyone that he once walked in on Peter dancing around the kitchen and singing to Beyonce, he's going to kill the boy, and to hell with what the kid's true alpha boyfriend thinks about it.)

So Peter puts the ring box back where he's been keeping it, tucked under the soft grey henley that has Chris pinning Peter against the wall every time he wears it.

Then he thinks he'll try it one last time. One last time before he gives up and accepts that living in sin is the best he's going to get, and just moves all his things into Chris' apartment.

And it's going well. It's the two of them, alone in the Preserve, a sinfully delicious cherry pie and a good bottle of wine next to them. Peter chose the clearing they're sitting in specifically, it's the place they first slept together. The place that saw Chris' fingers move over Peter, and in him, for the first time.

And Peter's just about to do it, just about to reach into his pocket and ask Chris the most important question he's ever asked anyone in his entire life, when the clearing explodes into activity. When Scott and Derek, swiftly followed by the rest of the pack, crash in on them. There's shouting and yelling and the smell of blood and all Peter manages to make out is Stiles' panted out "Hydra!" before the ugliest thing he's ever seen bursts into the clearing with them.

Lydia's only just pulled out of the way by Isaac as Allison lets loose a flurry of arrows into one of the (oh my god, how many?!) heads the creature has.

Stiles and Lydia are trying to cast some sort of spell, and Peter would be interested if he wasn't too busy trying to stay the hell alive.

Erica yelps as she's hit by a burst of acidic saliva and Peter just manages to avoid the teeth snapping at him.

"For fuck's sake!" he yells as the teeth are followed by claws. And he only escapes being gutted by leaping onto the head currently attempting to eat him.

Peter grins as he wrenches the hydra's head up, the satisfying crack as he pulls and rips drowned out by the twin shouts of "Peter, no!" from Derek and Scott.

He looks at them as he drops the head to the ground. And he just took one of the snapping, snarling heads out of the game, so why the hell are they both looking at him like that?

And then the neck he's clinging to moves, and a sound Peter's going to remember for the rest of his life reverberates through the Preserve as it splits, two more heads forming in its wake.

Well, fuck.

Jumping to the ground, Peter snarls out his frustration, ducking out of the way as one of the new heads makes a beeline right for him. "This is fucking ridiculous! All I'm trying to do is propose! Is that too much to ask?!"

There's silence in the Preserve for a brief second as the entire pack stops and stares at him. Silence for only a moment, until the hydra shrieks at them again and everyone leaps back into action.

Chris is staring at Peter as he reloads his guns, staring at Peter as he continues to unload clip after clip into the hydra. "Peter?"

Peter's back to back with Derek, heads coming at them from all angles. "I love you, you idiot! You're my mate!"

Twisting out of the way of the head aiming for him, Chris turns, firing bullet after bullet into the head closest to Peter. The hydra rears away from the bullets, leaving a path for Chris to reach Peter.

Fisting his fingers into Peter's shirt, he pulls Peter to him, kissing him quickly. "If either of us die before I get you down the aisle, I will not be happy."

Peter narrows his eyes. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," Chris answers. "Of course it's a yes."

Peter grins, grabbing Chris and dragging him back in for another kiss.

"Can you two do this some other time?" Derek growls. "You know, maybe when we're all not about to die a horrible death."

"Oh, calm down, nephew." Claws and bullets both reach out for the head diving towards them. "I just got engaged!"

"Not the time!" Derek snaps as he roars, leaping onto the hydra's back and pulling one of the heads up and away from where it was just about to bite into Cora.

Bullets, claw, arrows and fur fly until finally, finally, Lydia yells at the pack to pull back. Twin voices rise as she and Stiles chant, their voice soon covered by the sound of sizzling, as the hydra screams long and loud before exploding.

"Well, that all worked out okay," Stiles comments, high-fiving Lydia.

Derek just glares at him as he picks hydra guts out of his hair.

Peter looks around the clearing, visually checking each of the pack, before the hand on his shoulder draws his gaze back to Chris.

"Hey." Chris' voice is soft.

"Hey," Peter replies, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"So, that just happened," Chris comments.

"Yes, it did," Peter agrees. And then he pulls his fiancé to him, and nothing more is said for a while.


	15. Chris/Victoria/Peter - Threeway Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the three of them are together

The only comment Victoria makes when she walks into the bedroom is that they could have waited for her.

Chris' answer is a smile. Because he was going to wait, he was. The plan had been to keep Peter on the edge, riding Chris' fingers, until Vic got back. But the noises that had been dropping from Peter's lips, the soft gasps and whimpers and the way Peter had writhed as he begged had made Chris throw that plan out of the window. Made him flip Peter onto his stomach and slide into Peter's body.

Vic just rolls her eyes at him as she strips, because she knows exactly what Chris is thinking, exactly what led to him being balls deep in their wolf while she was in town, running an errand. (And she loves that the message she got on her phone asking what time she'd be back had been accompanied by a photo of Peter, laid on their bed and teeth biting at his lower lip with Chris' fingers wrapped around him.)

Chris stops moving when Vic reaches the bed, holding himself still in Peter and causing him to push back, to try to get Chris moving again.

There are words coming from Peter, _please--_ and _Chris--_ and _move--_ all merging together in a string of pleading. They trail off when Vic runs her fingers through Peter's hair, his head lifting to look at her, his bright blue eyes wide and wet.

She keeps her fingers in his hair as she moves onto the bed, bracketing him with her legs and edging down until she can feel his breath on her.

Chris starts to move slowly as Peter laps at Victoria, gentle thrusts pushing Peter closer as his tongue dips inside her.

She reaches out with her free hand, and it's grasped by Chris, each of them connected to the other two as they move together.

It's strange, she thinks, this relationship they've fallen into. When she and Chris had first gotten serious, he'd been open with her about his bisexuality, about his history with Peter Hale. But she'd never thought it would ever lead to this. Never thought that moving to Beacon Hills would see their family expand by one. Because it has.

And Victoria doesn't care how it looks to outsiders, doesn't care whether they see a married couple bringing a third into their bed, or two hunters lowering themselves to fucking a werewolf. What they should see is three consenting adults, who have been lucky enough to find each other at various stages of their lives. Three consenting adults who realised that they weren't missing their other half, but their other two thirds.

And, admittedly, it's not the family Vic ever thought she'd have, but it's hers and it's perfect. And god help anyone who tries to take it away.


	16. Chris/Peter - Peter talks in his sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get revealed while Peter's asleep

Peter has a habit of talking in his sleep. But he only does it when his mind is too full and won't slow down. When thoughts and fears and the things that Peter normally tries so hard to keep inside come spilling out.

Derek remembers when he was younger, remembers the argument in his grandfather's study, remembers the way his father had hustled him, Laura and Cora upstairs, even though they could still hear the voices. Could still hear his mom and his grandparents and Peter, their raised voices carrying through the house. Could still hear the _He's a hunter, Peter--_ and the _You really think he'll give up his family for you?_ and the _I won't have a son of mine spreading his legs for a fucking **Argent** \--_

He remembers how the bruise was still healing on Peter's face when he stormed upstairs and passed Derek. Remembers hearing Peter whimpering in his sleep, snatches of words and names and _Chris--_ coming through the walls. And he remembers hearing his mom going into Peter's room, remembers hearing her _Oh, Peter--_ and the soft voices of brother and sister, pitched too low for even werewolf ears to pick up the words on.

So, he's not surprised to hear Peter again now. Not when the band of skinwalkers they'd been chasing through the Preserve had decided to fight them with fire. Not when two of them had cornered Peter, flames around him as they'd advanced on him. Not when he'd heard the rapid beating of Peter's heart and the shallowness of his breath as he'd fought to keep the memory of fire from overwhelming him.

In the end it had been Chris who had gotten to them first, Chris who had managed to put down the skinwalker facing him and make his way over to Peter. Chris who had pulled Peter out of the way of the flames, his hand on Peter's cheek and a swift nod of Peter's head before the two of them had fought back to back.

The entire pack collapses once they get back to the loft, beaten and bloody and smelling of smoke and singed fur. There's a pile of bodies on the couch, and Derek can't actually tell where Scott and Stiles start and Kira, Malia and Lydia end.

Peter looks likes he's two steps away from just hitting the floor, and Derek pushes him over to the bed, watching as his uncle just manages to kick off his boots before collapsing onto the covers.

He's talking quietly with Chris when they hear it. Soft, murmured whimpers coming from the bed. Muted and low and indistinct at first, until the _No--_ and _Please--_ and _Chris--_ make it into the air.

Chris doesn't hesitate before he's moving, half-full coffee mug placed on the table and closing the distance between him and Peter in easy strides. He only glances back at Derek once before settling himself on the bed, gathering Peter up.

And Derek doesn't mean to listen, but it's not like he can help it. Not like he can avoid hearing the _Ssh--_ and _You're okay--_ and _I'm here--_

The words trail off eventually, as Peter's breath evens out into a more regular pattern of sleep.

Chris is looking at him, running his fingers through Peter's hair as he watches Derek, the look in his eyes almost daring Derek to say something. But all Derek does is nod, picking the mug off the table and placing it in the sink.

He knows the history between Chris and Peter. Not all of it, but enough. He knows enough to understand that Peter will always look to Chris first and last, even if they both tried so hard to deny it for so many years. And he knows enough to understand that he's finally getting his uncle back, the years of insanity and anger that drove him on after the fire receding to leave the Peter he's missed for so long.

He knows enough to understand that there's always going to be a part of Peter that Chris holds. And Derek's okay with that.

Heading over to the bed, Derek toes off his boots, quietly telling Chris to do the same if he's planning on staying there. Chris narrows his eyes, looking at Derek like he's not quite sure what he's hearing.

"Boots, Argent," Derek says quietly. "And then sleep. We can deal with everything else in the morning."

And Peter stays between them as they sleep.


	17. Chris/Peter - Dom/sub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is Chris'.

Chris is sitting there, fully clothed, as Peter pulls his clothes off. The wolf's obviously not entirely happy about Chris' command to strip, but he's obeying anyway, which is all Chris can ask. He'd told Peter to strip as soon as they'd got back to Chris', as soon as the door was closed and Chris' jacket was thrown over the back of the couch. Told Peter to strip because he isn't happy about what happened in the pack meeting earlier, isn't happy about the comment Peter made to Scott.

Peter had been so damn amused by his own words, so damn pleased with himself. Even though Chris had asked Peter not to. When he'd turned up at the apartment, only minutes before Chris had been due to leave for Derek's, eyes wide and bright as Chris wrapped his fingers around Peter's wrist and tugged him inside.

Peter hadn't said much, only _Yes--_ and _Please--_ and _Can't wait-- _. Hadn't said much as Chris' fingers had opened Peter's jeans before sliding inside to wrap around the already hard cock straining behind the denim. It had been fast and rough, with Chris jacking Peter, twisting his hand in just the way he needed to in order to make Peter spill over his fingers.__

__Peter had been cleaning his own come off Chris' fingers when Chris had asked him, his tongue lapping at each digit as he'd nodded at Chris' words. As he'd nodded at the _"Is this enough to get you through?"_ and the _"We'll come back here after the meeting."__ _

__When they'd finally been leaving, when Peter had been two steps ahead of Chris, Chris had reached out, wrapping his fingers around Peter's arm. Because he knows what Peter's like when he's on the edge, when the itch under his skin gets too much. So he'd asked. He'd asked Peter to keep it dialled back during the pack meeting, to not react with scorn and sarcasm whenever someone said something Peter deemed as irrelevant._ _

__And Peter had agreed. He'd agreed and then he'd been unable to keep from making a scathing comment towards Scott barely twenty minutes after they'd arrived at the loft._ _

__Which leads them to here. Leads to Chris telling Peter to put his hands behind his back, to wrap his fingers around his own wrists and keep them there._ _

__Chris sits back in the chair, one of his legs outstretched as he tells Peter to straddle him, to rub himself off against the rough denim._ _

__"Two minutes, pup. That's how long you've got, and if you can't come before then, then you're not coming at all tonight."_ _

__-_ _

__Peter can't help the way his lips curl into a snarl at Chris' words. Because McCall deserved it, the pathetic little idiot. But, for some reason, Christopher's fond of the child. So, here Peter is._ _

__"Time's ticking, pup."_ _

__Chris' voice jerks Peter back to the now, back to realising that he's already lost precious seconds. So, he straddles Chris' leg, pressing himself down, and swallowing the moan as the denim presses against his sensitive flesh. Then, keeping his eyes on Chris', he starts to move._ _

__He doesn't know how much time passes as he rubs himself against Chris, as he watches Chris open his own jeans and pull out his hard cock, stroking himself in time with Peter's movements against his leg._ _

__Chris marks off a minute, then thirty seconds._ _

__Peter can almost hear the countdown, hear the ticking seconds of Chris' watch. And he's close, he is. Biting down on his lip, he thrusts hard against Chris' leg, the rasp of the denim a sharp bite over his skin. Peter can feel it edging closer, just out of reach, just there, just--_ _

__Chris jerks his leg away. "Time's up, pup."_ _

__Peter's cock throbs as he growls, tumbling to the floor. He scrambles to his knees, growl segueing in a whine as he watches Chris lazily jack himself._ _

__"Hands behind your back, Peter." Chris' voice is low, and Peter realises that his hands have been creeping closer to his cock, the scent of Chris' arousal, of the precome slicking his cock, making Peter's head swim._ _

__He clenches his hands, hesitating just that moment too long._ _

__"Hands, pup. Now." Chris' voice is harsher._ _

__Reaching behind himself, Peter grabs his own wrists, breathing deeply when he feels the pinprick of claws in his skin. His cock is begging for attention, hard and wanting, and he'd give anything if Chris would just touch him right now._ _

__But Chris doesn't. Just looks at Peter, kneeling at his feet. Pulling his hand away from his cock, Chris leans forward._ _

__"Guess it's going to be one of those nights, pup, isn't it." Chris reaches out, cupping Peter's cheek and running his thumb against his lower lip, slicking precome across Peter's mouth. "Don't lick it off."_ _

__Peter closes his eyes, fighting against the urge to run his tongue over his lips, fighting the urge to taste the part of Chris that's slicked across him._ _

__And Chris is right. The crawling sensation under Peter's skin means that he won't go down easily, means that his wolf is howling inside him, eager to show his belly, but demanding that the person he shows it to proves himself worthy first._ _

__A sharp tug on his hair has Peter's eyes opening, focusing on Chris' gaze._ _

__"Stay with me, pup."_ _

__Chris doesn't let go of Peter's hair, as he wraps his other hand back around his cock. Keeps Peter's head back as he strips himself firmly, holding himself close and precome dripping onto Peter's cheek._ _

__Peter's breathing heavily, the steady thrum of Chris' heartbeat thundering through him. Chris' breath hitches once, twice, and then he's coming, splattering Peter's face with white, and marking him as Chris'._ _

__Stepping back, Chris lets go of Peter's hair, and Peter can feel the come running over his skin._ _

__Kneeling down, Chris smiles at him, reaching out to gather some of the come on Peter's face and rub it over his lips._ _

__"You look good like that, Peter. Marked as mine," Chris says as he stands. "Don't wipe it off, and follow me." Chris walks out of the room, not waiting to see if Peter will follow._ _

__Peter does._ _


	18. Chris/Peter - Slow, Lazy Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is Peter's anchor.

Peter hates to admit it, but there are times when just the touch of Chris' hand soothes him. Times when Chris will sit at one end of the sofa, and encourage Peter to lie next to him, his head in Chris' lap, Chris' fingers running through his hair. And it's not petting, it's _not_. But there's something about it, about being surrounded by Chris' scent and attuned to Chris' touch that makes Peter feel grounded.

They'll stay like that for hours, the TV soft in the background, and Chris' heartbeat a steady, gentle pulse in Peter's ears. Sometimes they'll be there all night, Chris having moved to curl around Peter on the sofa, and the blanket over the two of them the only indication that Allison has been back to the house.

And sometimes, Chris will gently nudge Peter up, will lead him to the bedroom and strip him carefully. Chris will settle Peter on the bed before he strips his own clothes off, sliding in behind Peter. And slick fingers will edge inside Peter's body, opening him up for something larger, more insistent. Chris will move slowly, laying careful kisses across Peter's shoulders, as he steadily slides in and out.

It's slow and lazy and perfect. And Peter will feel his orgasm well in him, as Chris' fingers wrap around him, teasing him as slowly as Chris is fucking him. It'll bubble inside him, cresting like a wave, as he comes over Chris' fingers. And Chris will ride him through it, hips stuttering as he empties himself inside Peter.

And they should move, should get cleaned up, but Chris is still in Peter, and Peter doesn't want to let him go just yet. So he holds on to Chris' hand, and lets the silence carry them.


	19. Chris/Peter - Teacher/Student AU, Non-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to [this Tumblr prompt!fic](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/post/94884440026/if-you-are-still-doing-the-pick-a-number-send-a-ship) by [goddessofcruelty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty).

Peter tries to pull away from the finger making its way down his body, but the cuffs don't have much slack in them and he can't go far.

"Let. Me. Go." The words are little more than a snarl and the only answer is a smirk on Chris' lips.

"And why would I want to do that?" Chris' finger skirts over Peter's hip, edging onto his thigh to trace patterns that Peter can't discern. "I've had to watch you parade around that classroom for _months_. And now I've finally got you where I want you, finally got you where all wolves should be."

Peter growls as Chris' fingers wrap around his cock, bucking his hips to try to dislodge the young hunter's grip.

Chris' free hand comes down sharply on Peter's thigh, the shock of pain flaring brightly before dulling. "Bad puppy." He tightens his grip on Peter, stroking the soft flesh.

Peter closes his eyes, willing his body not to react, but he can feel it happening, feel his dick start to harden. He forces his eyes open, meeting the amused blue gaze of Chris. "I swear to god, as soon as I'm free I'm going to rip your throat out."

Chris just laughs and quickens his movements. "Hale, when you're free, the only thing you're going to do is drop to your knees and beg me to let you suck my cock."

Peter bites back on the moan welling in his throat as Chris' thumb sweeps over the head of his cock. And this is wrong, it feels wrong. The sound of the blood rushing through his ears is too loud, too quick, and there's a heat building inside him that shouldn't be there, not like this. "What-- what did you do?"

Chris reaches out, runs his fingers through Peter's hair as he smiles down at him. "Those witches that owed me a favour? Well, they gave me a little more than a silencing charm and a pair of cuffs."

He glances to the side and Peter follows his gaze, follows it to the table next to the bed, to the empty syringe with the drop of blue liquid still on the tip.

"Wha--?" But the word doesn't make it out, doesn't make it past Peter's tongue, sitting thick and dry in his mouth. He's starting to lose focus, unable to think about anything but Chris' hand around his cock and the burning need boiling low in his belly.

Chris' hand is still moving through Peter hair, soft and soothing. Leaning down, he brushes his lips over Peter's before barely pulling back, before staying so close that they're breathing the same air.

"This is how it's going to happen," Chris murmurs, voice low and careful and thundering through Peter like it's a storm. "I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to open you up and come deep inside you. And when that happens, that magical cocktail currently swirling around your blood is going to bind you to me."

Peter knows the words should make sense, but their meaning is lying just out reach, dancing close before skipping away again. There's part of him that's trying to fight the heat that's building in him, trying to hold on to who he is, to _what_ he is. And through it all, Chris just keeps talking.

"I'm going to be your everything, Peter Hale. And it's going to be amazing."

He's trying desperately to hold onto the pack bonds that link him to the others, but the threads feel like they're burning away, one by one, until there's nothing left. No pack, no alpha, no family. Nothing but him and Chris.

Nothing.

And then Chris smiles at him, and Peter falls.


	20. Chris/Peter - Petopher Squared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which young!Chris and young!Peter end up in modern day Beacon Hills.

"Pissed off some witches," is the only explanation given when Chris and Peter find the younger versions of the themselves in the middle of the Preserve.

A quick trip to Deaton confirms it, along with the added knowledge that the spell should wear off after a few days, returning their younger selves back to their correct time period.

It's four days into that time that it happens, that Chris comes home with his younger self, to find his Peter with the younger Peter against the wall, their lips pressing together.

Chris wants to say that he can't believe Peter would do this, but it's _Peter_. And the wolf has already mentioned it to Chris, commenting that he wondered what it would be like to kiss himself, that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and didn't Chris think they should see what it was like.

"Come on," Chris says, "we'd better go and separate them." Because both of the Peters look like they're only a few seconds away from humping each other there against the wall.

But when Chris takes a step forward, his younger self doesn't follow. And he looks back to see wide eyes and a partially open mouth and jeans that are already starting to strain.

He's about to comment, about to roll his eyes and tell the younger him to pull himself together when he hears the noises. Hears the low whines, almost sub-vocal, coming from the wolves.

And Chris knows that noise, he's been responsible for that noise many, many times. He's used to hearing it when he's got Peter spread out under him. Used to hearing it when Chris is sliding into Peter's body, going slowly so he can draw out the feeling of Peter opening up around him as much as he can. But the other him is staring at Peter, at both the Peters, like it's the first time--

Well, fuck.

Chris looks back at himself, really looks. Looks at the slight softness on his jaw, and the unmarked skin just under his left ear where the scar from a wolf's claws now sits.

"Nineteen?" he asks.

Chris has to wait long moments until his other self can drag his eyes away from the wolves who are still grinding against each other. Has to wait long moments for the nod.

"When?" Because that matters.

"Last month," comes the answer.

Which explains why. Explains why he, _younger_ him anyway, is looking at Peter like he's never heard the soft noises, like he's never seen Peter's tongue dart out to lick at his lower lip. It's because he hasn't. Because if this is him when he's just turned nineteen, then this is him when he's just met Peter. When he's just met the wolf who did, who _will_ , turn his life so abruptly upside down.

This version of him hasn't held Peter, feeling the wolf shiver as Chris pushes into him. Hasn't watched blue eyes sharpen and bleed bright colour as Peter arches his back and comes.

And the one thing Chris always regretted was the way their first time went. Oh, he didn't regret the way he'd parked his car up on the bluff overlooking the town and grinned at Peter. The way Peter had grinned back and moved into every touch. The way his lips has fallen open when Chris had slicked his fingers up and pressed inside. The way small puffs of breath had escaped from Peter each time Chris thrust into him. The way Peter's fingers had curled around Chris' arm, small pinpricks of pain from Peter's claws as Chris had first seated himself fully in the wolf's body. The way Peter had gasped and come, clenching down on Chris and making him spill himself inside Peter, marking him up so completely every member of Peter's pack would know exactly who had fucked him.

But the thing he had regretted was the way he'd turned to Peter afterwards, watching as he'd tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned his shirt and commented that he hoped that had made Peter forget anyone that had been before Chris. He regretted the way Peter had glanced away before saying that there hadn't been anyone before Chris.

The thing Chris regretted was that Peter had deserved more than a quick fuck in Chris' car for his first time. He'd deserved to be laid out and taken apart until he was writhing with want and need and desire.

He doesn't bother asking his younger self if he wants Peter, if he wants to see the wolf hard and needy and begging to be fucked. He can still remember back to when he was nineteen, back to when the soundtrack to all his thoughts was wondering what Peter would sound like when he was fucked.

He thinks they'll lay younger Peter out on the bed, and Chris will show the other him exactly where the wolf likes to be touched, exactly what places to focus on that will have Peter arching up and pleading for more.

And maybe he'll fuck his Peter next to them, so twin moans and gasps can dance in the air. Maybe he'll see if the bed that holds two easily is strong enough for four.

He thinks it will be.


	21. Chris/Peter - Exhibitionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter has an exhibitionist streak. He's not the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on the back of a prompt on the imaginesteenwolf tumblr: Imagine Peter bringing up the rough kinky sex you had the night before in front of the entire pack.

Derek calls the pack meeting so they can discuss what's to be done about the rogue alpha that's in town. He hasn't hurt anyone, but his refusal to leave has the pack on edge. Derek and Peter are sure they can track him and take him down, and Scott's already been given a mixture from Deaton that should muddle the alpha's thoughts and emotions, leaving him with a desire to not return to Beacon Hills. All they have to do now is work out the best way to get him out of the town.

The final plan is simple. Find the alpha, render him unconscious and drive him out of town before dropping him off somewhere.

Stiles comments that he should be able to get his hands on a pair of his dad's handcuffs, so they can cuff the wolf before putting him in the jeep, just in case. But Chris shakes his head, tells Stiles the cuffs wouldn't hold the wolf if he regained consciousness, and that it's always better to bind a werewolf with wolfsbane-laced ropes than it is with handcuffs.

Peter barely waits for Chris to finish speaking before he slips in with "You would know, Christopher."

Of course, Stiles can't help but ask what he means.

Peter just grins and slides up a sleeve, revealing the still healing rope burns up his arm. "Argent has lots of rope laced with wolfsbane, Stiles. He likes to tie me down with them while he's fucking me."

Chris can't stop the growl welling in him as Peter keeps talking, spilling comment after comment until Chris has finally had enough. He heads over to Peter, fisting his fingers in Peter's hair and yanking the wolf's head back. And he knows this is what Peter wanted, for the entire pack to see Chris' claim. Because Peter's not looking contrite or ashamed. His eyes are wide and his breathing's shallow, and Chris doesn't need to be a wolf to almost smell the arousal coming from Peter.

"Is this what you wanted, Peter? The entire pack to know you're mine?"

Peter doesn't answer, he doesn't need to. The hitch in his breath is more than enough for Chris. And Chris knows his wolf has an exhibitionist streak in him, knows that he comes hard when Chris fucks him against one of the walls of the club the next town over, strangers watching and jerking off to the sight of Peter spread open on Chris' dick.

But maybe Peter needs to bring it a little closer to home. Maybe he needs his pack to see him on his knees, to have them acknowledge Peter as Chris'.

Chris looks over at the rest of the pack. Looks at Stiles, biting his lip as he stares at them, his own jeans straining. Looks at Scott, his eyes wide as his gaze flits from Peter to Chris to Stiles, and then back again. Looks at Lydia, her fingers against her thigh, and Chris realises she's moving them in time with Chris' own hand, flexing them each time Chris tightens his grip on Peter.

Chris' gaze moves over the rest of the pack, each of them watching, waiting, but none of them making a move to stop him.

The last one he looks at is Derek, and Chris doesn't know if he's seeking approval or permission but, either way, he gets it.

Derek's nod is solid, resolute, and with it, the air in the loft changes, takes on a tang of anticipation as Chris uses the grip he has on Peter's hair to pull Peter off the couch he's sitting on, tugging him to the side so everyone can see them.

"Last chance, Peter," Chris says softly, knowing that it's still loud enough for at least half of the people watching them to hear. "Last chance to say no before everyone in the pack knows exactly who you belong to."

Peter just sneers at him, lip curling into a snarl. And Chris knows enough about wolf packs to see it for what it is, to see that Peter _wants_ to be taken down, wants his pack to know that he submits because he chooses to.

Chris matches the snarl, sharply yanking the hand still tangled in Peter's hair, and pulling the wolf down to this knees.

Chris ignores the dull thud that rings through the loft as Peter's knees hit the floor. And he ignores the sounds coming from where the others are sitting, the soft murmurs and the rustling of clothes. He ignores everything apart from Peter as he tilts Peter's head back, and opens his jeans with his free hand.

He's been hard since he realised this was going to happen, cock straining at the thought of marking Peter in front of the entire pack. Because Peter is his. And, after this, no one will be able to deny it.


	22. Chris/Peter - Chris serenading Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris finds out Peter's favourite movie, and serenades him (aka: In which Claire writes crack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on the back of a prompt on the imaginesteenwolf tumblr: Imagine waking up to Chris standing outside your window playing an Arctic Monkeys song on the guitar for you.
> 
> My first thought was "Wow... random..." and then I kinda wrote it anyway. Except Chris isn't outside. And he doesn't have a guitar. And I don't know any Arctic Monkeys songs.
> 
> Also, background Derek Hale/Jordan Parrish.

It happens because there was an argument, and maybe Chris said some things that shouldn't have been said. Peter's face just shut down as he turned and stalked out of the loft, leaving a cold feeling washing over Chris.

And when Scott comments "That was a bit harsh--", when even Scott is on Peter's side, Chris knows he went too far.

Only, he can't fix it, because Peter won't speak to him. He won't acknowledge Chris in meetings, makes sure to keep at least two other members of the pack between them at all times.

So, he goes to Derek, because he doesn't know what the hell to do and maybe Derek has an idea.

Jordan just opens the door when Chris gets there, one of Derek's shirts hanging too big on him, and goes to make everyone coffee while Chris and Derek talk.

"You fucked up," Derek says.

Chris _knows_ that. What he doesn't know is how to fix it.

"You need a grand gesture," Jordan says, putting a mug in front of Chris, before going back for his and Derek's.

"Jordan's right," Derek agrees. "Peter's a romantic, at heart. He wants the grand romantic gesture, he just doesn't like to admit it."

"Not that it isn't obvious, mind," Jordan adds. "His favourite movie is _10 Things I Hate About You_ , for god's sake."

"Is it?" Chris asks, hating that he doesn't know that. He and Peter have been fucking on and off for years, he should know more about the wolf other than the fact that he likes pineapple flavoured lube and biting his nipples gets him to come in about seven seconds.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Chris, Peter likes romantic comedies and bad sci-fi movies. He reads Terry Pratchett, and has seen nine different productions of The Tempest. And his favourite part of sex, whether he's told you this or not, is right after, when your fingers run through his hair." He glances over to Jordan when the deputy makes a soft noise. "It's a wolf thing," he shrugs.

"I did wonder," Jordan murmurs, his hand reaching out for Derek's hair, before pulling away at the last second, like he'd just remembered that Chris was with them.

When Chris finally leaves the loft, he's got an idea in his head, even if he's not sure if he can actually go through with it.

And he almost baulks when it's finally time, when the whole pack are at the loft for nothing more than reaffirming pack bonds and spending time with each other. But then he watches as Peter smiles at something Melissa says, only for the smile to slide off his face when he notices Chris' arrival.

Jordan looks at him, question written on his features. Chris breathes deeply as he nods, closing his eyes and hoping like hell this is going to work as Jordan pushes a button on the ridiculously large music system Derek owns.

The chatter dies to nothing as the music starts playing and Chris walks towards Peter.

"You're just too good to be true--"

~

Peter's just staring at him as the song finishes, mouth open slightly, and Chris is starting to think that he's made a fool out of himself for nothing, and then Peter starts to smile.

"Really?" the wolf asks, amusement lacing his tone.

Chris shrugs. "I was informed by a certain someone that it's your favourite movie."

"It is."

There's silence for a heartbeat, before Chris speaks the words he was hoping this entire plan would give him a chance to say. "I'm sorry." He lifts a hand to cup Peter's cheek. "Peter, I love you. I know I've never said before, but I do. And I will do anything to make this right."

"I love you too, you giant idiot," Peter admits.

And the smile Peter gives him tells Chris that they're going to be okay.


	23. Derek/Peter - Derek is still a Possessive Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is Derek's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on the back of a prompt on the imaginesteenwolf tumblr: Imagine Derek demanding you look at him while he fucks you.
> 
> Pretty much the Derek!pov accompaniment to chapter 11.
> 
> Background and past Chris/Peter.

Peter. It's Peter Derek's fucking. And he wants Peter looking at him, because part of Derek still can't believe that it's real. He's wanted Peter for so long, ever since he was young, ever since he first wrapped his hand around his cock and brought himself off to thoughts of Peter under him.

He used to imagine what it would be like. To have Peter walk into pack meetings smelling of Derek. To have his mom, his _alpha_ , acknowledge that Peter was his.

And it wasn't like she hadn't known. Wasn't like she hadn't found out the first time Peter had come home with a soft smile on his face and stinking of Chris Argent, stinking of a _hunter_. Derek had been furious, storming up to his room, fists clenched against the urge to track Argent down and tear him apart for daring to touch what was Derek's.

When his mom had knocked on his door, hours later, and asked if he was okay, he'd told her. Told her that Peter was his, that his wolf howled whenever Peter was near, howled with the desire to take, to claim, to mate.

His mom's soft _Oh, Derek--_ had been his undoing, and he'd curled into his mother in a way he hadn't done since he was a pup.

He doesn't know what his mom had said to Peter, still doesn't to this day, but Peter never came back to the house drenched in Argent's scent again. Derek could still smell the hunter, under the layer of cheap motel body wash, but it wasn't enough to make his eyes water and his skin prickle, like it had that first time.

Then one day Peter had come home smelling of anger and misery and pain, and the scent of Chris Argent on his skin steadily faded to nothing. Faded to nothing and paved the way for Derek to scent Peter. Paved the way for light touches to his uncle's arm as Derek passed him, for pressing against Peter as Derek leaned over to grab something. Paved the way for one of the underlying scents in Peter's skin to go from Argent to nothing to _Derek_.

And then the fire had happened. The fire and Laura and Peter going feral. Scott and Kate and Peter's blood on Derek's claws.

But Peter's back. Back and closer to the Peter Derek knows, than the monster in the woods that killed Laura, that bit Scott, ever was.

The power of being an alpha sings in Derek's veins, tells him to pull his pack around him, to pull his mate into line. He scents all of his pack, brief touches as he passes them, to leave a trace of himself with them. But he touches Peter most of all. None of the others know what it means when he wraps his hand around the back of Peter's neck, but he sees Argent's eyes widen slightly and knows his message has been heard.

And isn't that a kicker. Hunters, _Argents_ , in his pack. There are nights his wolf rages. Nights where he wants to tear through their flesh and rid Beacon Hills of the Argents once and for all. And then there are the nights where his wolf preens. When he reaches out and touches Peter and hears the soft hitch in Chris Argent's breath. When every touch and every look screams _mine_ , and Argent doesn't say a word, doesn't do a thing except look away, his lips tight.

Derek doesn't know why it changes, doesn't know what makes Peter turn his head one day and nuzzle into Derek's touch, but he does. It's light and it's brief, but it's _there_.

Peter stays behind after the pack meeting, after Stiles trails out after Lydia and Allison takes Scott's hand in hers, after Derek hands Isaac some cash to go see a movie and asks him to stay at Scott's tonight. After Argent leaves, the last one out of the door, and his eyes on Peter, who isn't looking back. Derek doesn't even try to contain the smirk as Argent meets his gaze, the hunter's shoulders dropping slightly as he leaves.

Derek's hand is on Peter's face as soon as the door to the loft is closed, cupping Peter's cheek and feeling his wolf rumble contentedly inside him as Peter turns into the touch.

"Alpha--"

Peter's voice is low, but the word sounds perfect on his lips.

Derek slides his hand from Peter's cheek to the back of his neck, squeezing as he pulls Peter to his feet.

"Mine, Peter. You're mine. Tell me."

Derek's been hard since Peter first turned into his touch, and his entire being thrums as Peter nods.

"Say it." Because he wants to hear it, wants to hear the words he's been waiting for since he first dreamed of holding Peter down and opening him up. Since he first looked at Peter and the only desires in him were _mount_ and _knot_ and _claim_ and _mate_.

Peter meets his eyes. "Yours, Derek. Yours--"

And Derek's wolf howls.


	24. Chris/Peter - Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris teaches Peter to shoot

"Really, Christopher, it's not like I don't already have claws." Peter glances down at the gun Chris is holding out, a look of distaste on his face.

"And what if something happens?" Chris asks. "Wolfsbane, or a spell, or something else that means you can't _use_ those claws of yours. You should at least be able to aim enough to hit the broad side of a barn.”

"Oh, fine." Peter takes the gun from Chris, holding it out towards the target set up a few yards away. "Like this?"

Chris rolls his eyes, stepping behind Peter and wrapping his arms around the wolf, his hands over Peter's as he adjusts Peter's grip.

"Fire the gun."

Peter squeezes the trigger as Chris' words wash over him, the hunter so close Peter can feel his breath.

The shot's off, hitting the tree the target is pinned to, but not the target itself.

"Relax your hips," Chris says. "You're tensing them and it's throwing your aim off."

Fingers wrap around Peter's hips, tugging him back until his ass is flush against Chris' crotch. And if the hardness Peter can feel pressing against him is telling him anything, it's that neither of them are very relaxed.

Chris' right hand moves back to where Peter's holding the gun, wrapping around one of Peter's wrists, thumb stroking over the soft skin. Chris' other hand edges over Peter's hip to press lightly against Peter's stomach, holding him against Chris' body.

"Now fire."

And Peter does. But he doesn't see the bullet hit the target because he's already too focused on kissing Chris.


	25. Chris/Victoria/Peter - Keeping Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris and Victoria decide Peter is theirs

Chris and Victoria knew when they got together that they both had dominant personalities, so they bring other people into their bedroom. People that they pin down and take apart until every one involved is sticky and sated and smiling.

And the rule they have is: Only once.

They only bring someone into their bed once. Because that person isn't a part of their relationship, they're an addition to it. And everyone knows that going in, that's it's going be one night of sweat-slicked orgasms and then a line drawn under it.

And it works. For years, it works.

And then Chris and Victoria move to Beacon Hills. They move to Beacon Hills, and when they're out in one of the clubs they see him, young and graceful, and moving against everyone who dances with him.

They know he's a wolf, there's something about the way he moves that screams it out, especially to two hunters, but it doesn't matter.

Victoria turns to Chris, and the words are already coming from her lips as her husband speaks.

"I want him."

"That one."

And they both move forward, a practised move as they close in on the wolf from either side. The wolf just moves into Chris' grip as Chris' hands rest on his hips, tugging the wolf back against him. And Victoria slides her arms around him, both of her hands resting on Chris' belt as they box the young wolf in.

And the wolf lets them. Even though they know he must be able to smell the underlying scents of what they are, he still lets them.

"I'm Peter," he says, voice raised over the music.

"You're ours," Victoria replies, voice low, but enough for a werewolf to pick up.

And later that night, when Peter is lying between them, Victoria slicked across his mouth and Chris leaking from his body. When the wolf is fucked out and fucked open, and making soft snuffling sounds as he sleeps, Victoria looks at Chris and smiles.

"We're keeping him," she says, her fingers edging lightly over the bite mark on Peter's shoulder that's rapidly fading to nothing.

"I think we'll need to ask him first," Chris points out, ignoring the soft pout Victoria throws him.

And then Victoria smirks, her fingers moving to score red lines across Peter's skin. "Peter," she says, waiting until the wolf blearily opens one eye to look at her. "Any objections to us keeping you?"

"If you fuck me like that every night, no objections at all." The words are partly muffled against the pillow as Peter mumbles them out before falling back to sleep.

Victoria looks back at Chris and grins. "Ours," she says.

And Chris just matches her smile. "Ours," he agrees.


	26. Chris/Peter - Peter is still Chris'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris gets a phone call at 3:00am

Peter's never been to the club before, but that doesn't matter. It's far enough outside of Beacon Hills that the only people who should see him are ones that won't care about anything except putting Peter on his knees. Because he needs this. Because he needs to get out of his skin and out of his brain, and the noises are too loud and the smell of smoke is too much.

So, he goes and gives himself over, not to the first Dom who approaches him, but the first one that Peter thinks will make it hurt.

And he's taken just enough wolfsbane to slow his healing, to make it so that the marks will _stay_. And when he tells the Dom with his fingers wrapped tightly around Peter's wrist, his nails digging into the softness of Peter's skin, that he wants it hard and rough, that he wants to _forget_ , the man just smirks and tugs Peter into one of the private rooms.

-

Chris groans when the ringing wakes him, fumbling for the phone that's vibrating on the bedside table. He answers it, even though he doesn't recognise the number, even though the time on the screen is telling him it's 3:00am.

The woman on the other end of the call responds to his mumbled out 'hello' by asking if he's Chris, asking if he knows Peter, says Peter needs help. But there's only one Peter that Chris knows, and it's been too many years and too many memories since Chris was the one Peter Hale turned to for anything.

Only, she's still speaking. Telling Chris that Peter's in her club, and in a bad way. Telling him that the Dom he was with took it too far and just left, and if that bastard thinks he's ever setting foot back in her club, then he's wrong.

She's saying how Peter shouldn't be alone, but the only thing he's mumbled to her so far is Chris' name, and she had to search through the pockets of the jacket he checked in to find his phone, and she could only find one Chris in the phone's contacts, so she's hoping he's the right one.

And Chris is already out of the bed, pulling on jeans and a shirt and asking this woman with the soft voice so full of concern where her club is.

It's a 90 minute drive at the legal limit, but Chris makes it in 50, the very early hour and clear roads working in Chris' favour.

The woman who rang him meets him at the door to the club, and it's obvious that the only ones still there are the staff cleaning up for the night.

She takes him to where Peter is, huddled on a sofa and wrapped in a blanket, his hands around a mug of something, and Chris can see the fine tremors running through the wolf.

"Peter?" Chris keeps his voice low. He's not sure if Peter is dropped, or shocky, or a bit of both.

It takes a minute for Peter to lift his head, for bright blue eyes to meet Chris' gaze, and Chris only just buries the sound of anger welling up in his throat.

The mark across Peter's cheek is going to bloom into a hell of a bruise, and the blanket's already slipped off one shoulder to reveal a set of welts and what looks like at least two bite marks.

"He wouldn't let me call the police." The frustration in her voice makes it obvious what the woman next to him thinks of that decision.

But Peter shakes his head. "Asked him for it." The words break in the middle, like they're an effort to get out, and Chris is moving before he even thinks about it.

He slides onto the sofa, manoeuvring both of them until Peter's back is against his chest, taking the untouched mug of what smells like sweet tea out of Peter's hands and placing it on the floor. He rewraps the blanket around Peter, tugging the wolf back further until he's resting against Chris.

"No more, Peter," he says softly, his fingers running through Peter's hair. "You need this, you come to me."

The shake of Peter's head is barely there. "Not yours any more."

Chris thinks about how long it's been since he got to take Peter apart, since he was _allowed_ to take Peter apart. And thinks about how long it's been since he was the one Peter trusted to put him back together again. There's been a lot between them since that first time, that first touch. Years that passed in blood and fire. But Chris knows one thing, has known it ever since Peter leaned back against him.

"You'll always be mine, pup."

Peter doesn't answer, but Chris feels him relax just that fraction more.

They're alone now, the staff avoiding the corner of the room they're in. Chris knows he'll need to get Peter home. But for now, he'll let Peter doze, let Peter come back to himself, until they can make the drive back.

When they leave, when Peter is safe in Chris' passenger seat, with the road behind them and Beacon Hills in front of them, Chris knows he'll be taking Peter back to his. He knows that there'll be gentle touches and carefully navigated conversations when the morning light comes.

And he hopes that maybe, just maybe, there'll be a second chance in there for both of them.


	27. Chris/Peter - Intercrural Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris forgot to replace the supplies

They've been meeting in secret for months now. And they're careful when they meet. Careful to make sure that there's no scent on Peter that would tell Talia that he's fucking a hunter. And even though Peter wants Chris in him without anything between them, wants Chris to mark him so thoroughly that every member of his pack would know it the moment he walked through the door, he knows they can't.

And one night, in the motel on the edge of town that they've been meeting in, there are clothes scattered on the floor, and lips against skin. Then Chris realises they used the last of the condoms last week, and there's been so much shit going on at home with Gerard that he never remembered to buy more.

So he pulls his fingers out of Peter's body, ignores the whined out "Chris?" as he slips his hand between Peter's thighs and slicks up the wolf's skin.

He rolls Peter onto his side, spoons up behind him. "Close your legs," he murmurs.

"Well that's different to what you're normally asking." But Peter closes his legs, glancing over his shoulder at Chris as he does so.

Guiding his cock to between Peter's thighs, Chris pushes, the hardness sliding through on the slippery lubricant. He fucks into the juncture of Peter's thighs, his cock nudging at Peter's balls with each pass.

Peter's jerking himself in time with Chris' thrusts, and he tightens his legs when he comes, triggering Chris' own orgasm as he spills over Peter's skin.

And he knows they'll have to clean up. Have to remove every trace of Chris' scent from Peter, masking it with body wash lying in Peter's bag.

But, for now, he just holds his wolf and breathes.


	28. Chris/Peter - Peter wolfing out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter wolfs out during sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: Imagine Peter losing control during sex and turning into his wolf form

Imagine Chris, driving into Peter, the wet slap of skin against skin, and the sounds of _Fuck--_ and _Yes--_ and _Harder--_ meeting _Jesus--_ and _Mine--_ and _Take it--_

Then Chris shifts his angle slightly, shifts and thrusts, and Peter howls. His head back and his throat bared and the howl reverberating around the room.

And Chris only hesitates a moment when Peter looks back up. When he looks at Chris, eyes bright blue, and fangs ripping into Peter's lower lip as he bites it.

"Chris--" The word sounds thick in Peter's mouth, vocal cords not entirely human any more.

There's a beat, and Chris can see Peter trying to pull the wolf back.

"Don't," he says. He lifts a hand, slowing his thrusts as he traces the ridges on Peter's face, as he runs fingertips over Peter's forehead and down his nose, and through the blood on Peter's mouth. "I want all of you, Peter Hale. Never doubt that."

Pressing a kiss to Peter's still bloody lips, Chris rests his forehead against Peter's as he starts to fuck into his wolf, harder, faster.

And Chris doesn't care what people think, when they see an Argent with a Hale, or a hunter with a wolf. Because Peter's his, and that's never going to change.


	29. Chris/Peter - Knotting Dildos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter goes into heat and Chris wants to help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The website Chris goes to is Bad Dragon: http://bad-dragon.com/

Chris knows that Peter's heat is coming up. And he knows that, since Peter came back from his little sojourn of being dead, the way Peter deals with his heat is to lock himself away and ride it out.

And Chris wonders why, because he knows from the bestiaries and journals and stories told around hunter campfires that it's not pleasant, going through a heat alone. He knows that wolves don't necessarily need to be knotted (although that'll break the heat), but at least having pack around soothes some of the symptoms.

But when Chris asks, Peter just looks at him like he's an idiot.

"Do you really think, Argent, that I'd trust any of them when I'm like that? And, besides, _pack_ makes it easier. Which means I'm shit out of luck, thanks to your sister's little arsonist phase."

And when Peter's heat hits, he vanishes for over a week. Chris tries his apartment, easily picking the locks, but there's no sign of Peter.

Chris thinks he's the only one who notices the fine trembling that's running through Peter's frame when he finally reappears, sauntering into a pack meeting and asking what he missed.

Afterwards, Chris stays behind at the loft. And he's not sure if Derek will answer his questions, but he asks them anyway.

Derek surprises him, though. "Peter's heats always hit him hard. I remember Mom saying that it meant he needed a strong mate; that wolves would fight to have him choose them." Derek glances away. "There were three alphas all vying for the right to court him when--" The words trail off, but Chris doesn't need them. He knows exactly what they are. When Kate, when the fire.

And it's just another thing the Argents have taken from the Hales.

~

Chris finds out about the website because of Stiles. Because he walks into a pack meeting to hear the tail end of a conversation involving _knotting dildos_ and _how Scott was going to find out what it felt like_. And although that was something he definitely didn't need to know about misters Stilinski and McCall, he supposes he owes Stiles a thank you for at least putting him on this path.

He bypasses the dragons and the chimera, and he's tempted to tell the site that they're way off when it comes to the cockatrice, according to the autopsy photos he once saw. He clicks on the link for the werewolf, and it comes in four different sizes, so Chris buys one of each, just to be sure, and tries not to look at the price as he hits the purchase button.

The package arrives a week later, thankfully discretely wrapped as he's more than certain he doesn't want his neighbours seeing this. Peter's next heat isn't due for another few months so the package sits in the bottom of Chris' wardrobe.

When he can tell Peter's getting close, when the dates are right, and he can see the start of the extra energy running through the wolf, he goes to Peter's apartment, the package in his arms.

Peter opens the door, shirtless, his sweatpants sitting low on his hips. "This isn't really a good time, Argent. If you need something, you'll need to go to Derek."

Chris can see the packed bag sitting next to the sofa, and knows that Peter's ready to hide himself away in whatever place he goes to.

"You don't need to go, Peter, not this time. Let me help."

Peter snorts. "I don't know if you realise this, Christopher, but you're missing a rather vital part of the equipment."

Chris holds out the package. "Which is why I brought these."

~

"Knotting dildos? You bought _knotting dildos_."

Chris reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Peter's wrist, ignoring the still incredulous look Peter's giving to the four different sized boxes now sitting on his coffee table. "Tell me I'm not imagining this thing between us," he says. Not imagining the glances that go on just a touch too long, not imagining the way both of them have reached out for the other only to pull back at the last moment.

Peter's silence is all the answer Chris needs.

"So, let me help, Peter. Please."

"It may not work," Peter points out. "I'm not sure if a hunk of silicone up my ass will be enough for my body to think I'm getting bred."

"Don't you at least want to try?" Chris tempers the words with a soft smile, waiting until Peter nods.

"I probably won't need to be knotted for another couple of days," Peter tells him.

Chris just grins. "Gives us time for everything else first, then."

And then he leans forward and kisses Peter, his smile widening when Peter kisses back.


	30. Chris/Peter - Peter fighting an alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter fights an alpha and Chris finds it hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on the back of a prompt on the imaginesteenwolf tumblr: Imagine Chris rescuing you from a werewolf and being so horny that he takes you then and there.

Peter's still not back to full strength when he ends up going against a rogue alpha in the Preserve.

And the pack know the alpha's around, they've been patrolling the area to see if they can flush it out. And Peter and Chris are together, checking out one section of the Preserve.

The alpha comes at them too quickly for them to react, and Chris smacks his head off the tree he's thrown into.

Chris doesn't know how long he's out for, but he comes around to the sound of growls and snarls and the wet sound of claws against flesh.

The alpha's trying to get around Peter when Chris opens his eyes, and Peter is blocking him every time. His wolf is covered in cuts, and there'll be no saving the shirt Peter is wearing, torn and bloody like it is.

Although Peter is still on his feet, Chris can see him wavering, the injuries caused by the alpha slow to heal.

Lifting his gun, and trying to still the tremors running through him, Chris aims. The two wolves clash in a meeting of claw and fur and there's a moment that Chris thinks he won't get the shot in time, and then Peter feints to the left suddenly, leaving the rogue open to Chris.

The crack of the gun is loud in the silence, and the alpha drops almost immediately, the wolfsbane bullet going straight through his brain.

Peter looks over at Chris, blood running down his face from the wounds caused by the alpha's claws. "Took you long enough, Argent."

Chris doesn't bother answering as he gets to his feet, the sight of Peter, beaten and bloody, yet still the sarcastic asshole that Chris loves, making Chris' dick sit up and take notice.

"Shut up and come here, Hale."

Because Peter's tongue is darting out to lick at the blood on his face that he can reach, and it's making Chris think of the wolf's tongue on other things.

Peter scents the air, a slow smirk crossing his lips as he closes the distance between them. "Really, Argent? You know the pack will most likely have heard that and be on their way here."

Chris reaches out, snagging his fingers in Peter's ruined shirt and tugging him close. "Then we'll just have to be quick, won't we."

And then he pushes Peter to his knees.


	31. Chris/Peter - Chris' first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is the first person Chris sleeps with

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on the back of a prompt on the imaginesteenwolf tumblr: Imagine young Peter being your first

And it's weird because Chris would never have imagined that the first person he'd want to sleep with would be a wolf, a _Hale_. And he knows that people think he's fucked around, knows that he's cultivated that image. Because they're hunters, they go out there knowing that this could be the last time for them. So when you live with that every day, things like waiting and holding back and not just taking what you want seem stupid.

But Chris wanted to wait. Because he heard the story of how Mike lost it to some girl in the back of his car, and how Hank first had his dick sucked in a back alley, surrounded by trash and fuck knows what else. And that's never been what Chris wanted.

And Chris is glad he waited. Glad he gave the whirlwind that crashed into his life and introduced himself as Peter Hale a chance. He's glad they held hands and went to see movies. He's glad that they went for burgers and argued about who paid.

And he's glad it led to this moment. To the two of them in the Hale pool house, with Peter's fingers sliding into him. Glad it led to soft murmurs and careful kisses, and Peter's eyes flashing as he pushes into Chris' body.

They move together, a subtle shift like the tide, and the silence is broken with stuttered out breaths and _Yes--_ and _Perfect--_ and _Mine--_

And Chris knows it won't last, even if Talia has said she's prepared to support them. Because Gerard would never allow it, and Chris can't risk Peter's pack, can't risk _Peter_.

But right now, right here, that doesn't matter. All that matters is Peter moving within him, a gentle hand wrapped around Chris as they both get closer to the edge. All that matters is them. The two of them. Not wolf and hunter, not Hale and Argent. Just Chris and Peter.

All that matters is that the world is locked away outside, and for just one night, that's enough.


	32. Chris/Peter - Fire Alarm AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a fire alarm has gone off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following Tumblr prompt: Someone needs to write a ‘the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU

Chris is standing there, all grumpy in his jeans and a shirt he managed to grab off the chair before he left the apartment. And goddamnit, there’s a time and a place for being awake at 3:00am, and this isn’t it.

And then he notices Peter Hale, a few feet away from him, with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering slightly. And Chris isn’t surprised. There’s a bite to the air and Peter’s standing there in some very form-hugging boxers.

And if he wasn’t surrounded by his neighbours, including old Mrs Conahey from 3A, who thinks Chris is some sort of international kingpin (“Yes, I’m a weapons dealer. Yes, it’s legal.”), he’d totally spend the time they’re waiting for the fire brigade to go through the building, eyeing up exactly how figure hugging that underwear is.

Because he’s noticed Peter Hale. How couldn’t he? With the tight jeans the man seems to be wearing every time Chris sees him, ones that hug his ass in all the right ways. Not that there were wrong ways with that ass, Chris thinks.

Closing the distance between them as he strips off his shirt, and gives a short sigh of relief that he’d been sleeping in his undershirt, he holds the garment out. “Here, you look like you need it.”

Peter eyes the shirt for a couple of seconds before taking it and putting it on, a small moan coming from his lips as the warm fabric envelopes him. “Thank you.”

"It’s fine," Chris replies, steadily not thinking about the fact that a very attractive man is currently wearing his clothes. "I’m guessing you left your place in a hurry."

A wry smirk crosses Peter’s face. “It was clothes or Miss Diva, and by the time I’d wrestled her out from under the bed, the fire brigade was already hammering on my door.”

"Miss Diva?"

Peter points down to the cat carrier at his feet, where a mournful looking cat starts mao-ing as soon as she notices Chris looking at her.

"Good name," Chris comments with a smile.

"Apt name," Peter tells him. "Very, very apt."

The two of them chat until the fire brigade finally tell everyone it’s safe to go back in.

"I’ll wash this and get it back to you," Peter says, as he picks up the cat carrier.

"No hurry," Chris assures him.

Peter smiles. “Maybe I can cook you dinner. As a thank you for rescuing my sad looking shivering ass.”

"Your ass looked fine." There’s a beat as Chris realises just what he’s said, that he’d needed to have been looking at Peter’s ass to know how it looked. He opens his mouth to backtrack, but Peter just laughs.

"Note to self, the way to get the good looking guy in the next apartment to notice your ass is to freeze it off in the middle of the night."

Chris narrows his eyes slightly, causing Peter to laugh even more.

"Dinner. My place. Tomorr--" Peter winces. "Tonight. About 7 okay for you?"

Chris nods. “Seven sounds fine.”

"It’s a date, Christopher."

And then Peter is gone, carrying Miss Diva back into the apartment block and leaving Chris looking at the ass that’s not quite covered by Chris’ shirt. Seven o’clock. Dinner. He can’t wait.


	33. Chris/Peter - Porn Studio AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris writes porn movies and Peter stars in them

They're the darlings of the porn industry, a combination that is nearly unstoppable when Chris Argent's scripts are paired with Peter Hale's acting. Victoria's office has award after award lining the shelves, and more than half of them are down to either Chris or Peter.

It helps that the studio's known for putting out movies with plotlines as well as sex, putting out actual watchable movies, just with added fucking. Because it meant they took the industry by storm. And, yes, they still produce the 'Oh no, I need a plumber, why don't you get naked while fixing my sink' shorts, but that's not where the main money comes from. The money comes from the Hollywood actor meeting the librarian in a coffee shop. It comes from the bride's brother falling for the wedding planner, from the speed-dating comedy of errors.

And what Chris hands over each time is a different scenario where he and Peter meet, a glimpse into a dozen different worlds with a dozen different stories, all leading to one eventual ending.

He's had to watch Peter get fucked by a hundred different guys in a hundred different ways, but each one of them wore Chris' face in his mind.

And then he hands over his latest script, the one where a writer in a porn studio ends up falling for one of the actors, but doesn't know how to tell him. The one where the writer watches as the other man is laid down and spread out and broken open. The one where he's heard the gasps and the whimpers and the panted out pleas, and he wants them for himself.

Victoria just raises an eyebrow as she quickly glances over the script, nodding at him as he leaves her office.

It's two days until Peter's at his door, clutching a script Chris recognises immediately and slamming it down on the desk.

"This _is_ us, isn't it? Tell me this is us."

Chris nods. "It's us, Peter."

And then Peter's sitting on Chris' desk, fisting his hands in Chris' shirt and dragging him out of his chair, dragging Chris closer until he can kiss him.

And Chris has imagined this hundreds of times, written it uncountable times over. But none of it, _none_ of it, compares to the reality of finally being able to call Peter his.


	34. Derek/Peter - The Only Two Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they're the only two left, and what they have isn't healthy

They're the only two left after the fire. And they both hate that they survived, that they lived through the screams and the sounds and the scent of burning flesh. No one else understands, so no one else can ever be let in.

Sometimes, Derek tries to live a normal life. One where he gets an apartment and a job and tries to act like he's not looking at each and every person and working out how quickly he could eviscerate them, how quickly he could have their blood running through his claws. But he starts getting presents left at his door. Animals with their insides hanging out, their blood painting the floor outside his apartment door.

The super calls the police, but Derek knows they won't find anything. Because Peter's better than that. And Derek knows his uncle will be there soon, and he's right. When Derek walks in from work at the bar one night, Peter's there. There's blood still slicking his claws and Derek's not sure what the carcass on his kitchen table started as, but the blood is dripping off the table, puddling at Peter's feet.

"Took you long enough," Derek comments.

"I'm here now," Peter responds. "Brought you a gift."

Like blood and flesh and the scent of decay are the roses of their relationship.

Derek fucks Peter across the table, Peter's claws sinking into the wood, and carving grooves that the blood runs into.

They move to the bedroom afterwards, the sheets a sacrifice to the red and white painting both their bodies. Derek fucks Peter again. Because it's been too long, and the scent of smoke isn't so bad when Peter's around.

Peter's gone the next morning, leaving the smell of his come on Derek's sheets and the body of the animal Derek still can't identify in his kitchen.

Derek doesn't bother cleaning up, just throws what he needs into a bag and leaves the rest. There's a map on his coffee table, one of the carving knives he picked up on sale stuck in it. And he knows the territory the blade is dissecting. Knows that the pack there had refused his mother's request for help only days before the Argents burned them all to the ground.

So he knows where he's heading. And he knows he'll find Peter waiting when he gets there.


	35. Chris/Peter - BornHuman!Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is born human

Having thoughts where Peter is actually born human. And the humans in the pack get to make the decision when they're 18 as to whether or not they want the bite.

And Talia had always thought that her younger brother would be asking for it as soon as the clock struck midnight on his birthday. Because he's watched as the others have grown up as wolves, and she's seen the resentment in him, even if he tried to hide it. (And it's hard to tell a six year old why jumping off the roof means he now has a broken leg, and no, it won't just heal like his cousin's did.)

Only, he's saying he doesn't know if he wants the bite, saying that maybe being born human is the way he was meant to be. Saying that maybe the decision he'll make on his 18th is to stay human. And Talia doesn't know what's brought about such a change of heart.

It's Laura that finds out, creeping after Peter one night when she sees him sneaking out. And she knows her mom will be angry at her for following him, but she knows Peter's been hiding something. She _knows_.

Laura runs home as soon as she sees them together, bursting into her parents' room and waking them up. Because she has to tell her mom, tell her alpha. Because she saw them, and her mom and dad have always drilled into their heads that they need to _be careful_.

Talia and Andrew are waiting for Peter when he finally gets home, sneaking in through the door, hair wet from where he's obviously showered.

Talia doesn't let him try to explain. There's nothing he could say to make this anything other than the utter betrayal of the pack that it is.

And is this why he doesn't want to take the bite any more? Because a hunter is pouring pretty words into his ear. Because he's spreading his legs for an Argent. Because the eldest son of the Argents wouldn't spare Peter the time of day if he came accompanied by fur and fangs.

And Peter tries to tell them it's not like that. Tries to tell them Chris isn't like that.

"So what is it, Peter?" Talia demands to know. "Love? Don't make me laugh."

But it is. They've got plans. Chris doesn't want to be a hunter, and as soon as Peter is 18, they're going. They're leaving Beacon Hills, going to find a town somewhere they can just be Chris and Peter. No Argents, no Hales. Just the two of them.

Only Talia doesn't see it that way.

"He's using you, you stupid boy." And why can't Peter see the danger he's putting them all in?

But Peter knows he isn't, because he _knows_ Chris. And if Talia won't see that, then Peter will leave right now.

There's shouting and yelling, and everyone else in the house is wide awake, listening to it all. And when Peter tries to leave the room, Talia just sees red and lunges.

And now her brother is looking at her with wide eyes, full of hurt and anger and betrayal. Looking at her as he holds his arm, blood dripping onto the floor from the bite wound.

Part of Talia knows she should apologise. That she's always said the bite is gift, never to be forced onto someone. But the rest of her is the alpha, and she has to make sure her pack is protected.

"Let's see if he wants you now."

Peter staggers back, holding his arm to his chest, soft, hurt noises coming from him.

The rest of the family are outside the room, the door open as they all see what's happened, see Peter's arm and Talia's mouth, still stained with his blood.

And when Peter flees, when he pushes through them and runs out of the house, none of them follow.

~

And maybe he doesn't go to Chris. Because part of him doesn't know if Chris would reject him now that he's been given the bite, now that he's got that legacy of his family swimming inside him. And he doesn't want to see that in Chris' eyes, doesn't want to see the way Chris would turn away from him.

And he builds it up in his head that Chris would turn away, so he doesn't go to him.

He sees Chris a few weeks later, tells him that he decided to take the bite, that it would never have worked out between them. And then he watches as Chris turns and leaves without a word.

And maybe the memory Talia takes is the memory of how Peter took the bite. Because he's not opposing her, as such, he's just, _there._ Listless and apathetic, and the alpha's brother should be an asset to the pack, not this brooding mass who refuses to understand why what she did was for the best.

Only, thanks to Lydia's power and Talia's claws, he gets that memory back, and he understands how very different his life should have been.

And maybe Chris finds out because there are pixies in the Preserve, and they end up dosing Peter with something, and sending him into a dream-filled sleep. Maybe Stiles and Lydia find the remedy to bring Peter out of his coma-like state, but Deaton tells them to change one of the ingredients. Because "that would only work on a born wolf."

And Chris and Derek don't say anything, but the rest of the pack are confused.

"Peter was born human," Derek tells them. "Mom bit him when he was seventeen."

"Eighteen," Chris corrects him absently.

"Seventeen," Derek repeats.

But Chris is confused, because Peter told him that those born human make the decision on their eighteenth birthday.

"Peter didn't exactly chose." And Derek looks like he wants to be anywhere except for there.

"What do you mean?" Because Chris wants to know, needs to know.

So Derek tells him. Tells him of the fight, of the argument. Tells him about how Derek was seven when he heard Peter yell, when he snuck down behind the rest of the family and peaked through the open door to see his mother's mouth stained red and Peter looking at her like he was never going to trust her again. (He didn't. Not until Talia put five claws into his neck and made him trust her.)

And Chris wants Peter to wake up so he can tell him he's an idiot. That Chris would never have turned him away. He wants Peter to wake up so they can have the conversation that should have happened years ago and lifetimes away. He wants Peter to wake up so they can see if there's a second chance for both of them. He wants Peter to wake up.


	36. Chris/Peter - Speed Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Talia signs Peter up for speed dating

It happens because Talia gets fed up of her brother constantly rejecting all the offers other wolves make for his hand. Because "I may be a wolf, Talia, but do you seriously expect me to roll over and show my belly to the first alpha who wants it? Also, that guy is a dick."

And so it goes on. Too tall. Not tall enough. Can't play chess. Iowa? Seriously? He's _eighty_ , Talia, for god's sake. He offered me a dead squirrel as a courting gift. A _squirrel_. Derek doesn't like him. Derek likes him a little too much. Laura doesn't like him. He likes Laura a little too much. No, I won't give him another chance. Yes, I'm still annoyed about the squirrel.

And Talia just gets to the end of her tether. So, when she sees the sign in the coffee shop window for the speed dating night that Saturday, she walks right in and signs Peter up for it.

She doesn't tell her brother where they're going, but she can tell he knows something's up.

"Oh, hell, no," is all Peter says when they get to the coffee shop, when they look in the window and see the many single people milling around, all holding cups and mugs.

"Oh, hell, yes," is all Talia responds as she drags him inside.

Peter's been in there for only a couple of minutes when he sees him, standing against the wall and watching everything with a frown on his face. Peter actually feels himself drawn to the other man, so he goes over. And he finds out that his name is Chris, and his daughter signed him up for this without telling him.

"She thinks that I need to get back out there."

Chris is touching his ring finger, like there was a band there that has only recently been removed.

Peter commiserates, nodding over to where Talia is sitting. Next to the door, so she can stop Peter when he tries to escape.

They chat until the speed dating portion of the night begins, and Peter finds himself opposite a lovely young woman, who is pleasant and chatty and smells of vanilla. And he can't stop thinking about Chris.

He looks over to where the other man is sitting, and finds himself smiling when he meets Chris' eyes.

When the bell chimes, Peter gets up, heading over to Chris' table, and cutting off the man about to sit down with a terse, "That one's free," as he points to the table he'd been at.

"So," Peter says, when the bell goes. "As you know, my name's Peter. What you don't know is that my sister's an overbearing elder sibling who thinks she knows what's best," he hears Talia huff at that, "or that I'm ridiculously attracted to you and would really like to suck your dick. Anything thoughts on that?"

Chris is silent for long moments and Peter's starting to think that may not have been the best opener to go with, but he's started, so he'll see it through.

Eventually, a smile crosses Chris' face. "Chris, which you know. I think your sister would get on famously with my daughter. The feeling is mutual. And, yes, I am absolutely up for that."

Peter grins. "In that case, Christopher," he says, standing up and holding out a hand. "Shall we?"

Chris rolls his eyes at Peter, but takes his hand anyway.

"Wonderful night!" Peter calls, as he pulls Chris up from the chair and starts to drag him out of the shop, throwing a quick grin in Talia's direction as he passes her. "I hope you all find happiness and have fantastic sex!"

They welcome Chris and Allison into the pack officially quite soon after that.

And Talia insists on telling everyone that epic love story her brother is involved in only happened because of her.

Peter just rolls his eyes and smiles at Chris. But he doesn't disagree.


	37. Chris/Peter - CEO!Chris/PA!Peter AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is an overworked CEO and Peter is his new personal assistant

The first time Chris sees him is when he walks into his office and there's this stranger sitting at David's desk. Only, it's not David's desk, not any more. Not since David walked out three days previously, throwing his work pass down and telling Chris he could keep his job.

Chris hasn't spoken, but the other man looks up anyway, his eyes running over the length of Chris' body before meeting Chris' gaze.

"Peter Hale," he says. "The agency sent me."

"Chris Argent. Welcome to the madhouse."

The corners of Peter's lips upturn slightly, and he picks up his tablet and follows Chris into his office.

Chris nearly groans when he sees the stack of paperwork still on his desk. Ten of the work orders need to be signed off today if they've got any chance of meeting their deadline, but he doesn't know when he'll get the time considering--

"I cancelled your 10:00am meeting," Peter says smoothly, only a single step past the door.

"The one with Michaelson?" Chris asks. Because he can't see that happening. Michaelson's been pestering Chris for this meeting for weeks, he'd hardly just let someone cancel it at the last minute.

"Yes," Peter confirms. "I looked over the briefing he'd sent up for you--"

The one which Chris hadn't had time to look at.

"--and his premise was faulted. I told him you wouldn't sign off on such substandard work, and to go away and come back when he'd checked his base figures."

Wow. Chris wishes he'd been there for that one.

"I sorted your desk this morning. The ten orders that need to be signed off are at the top of the pile." Peter pauses. "You may want to send the one from Anderson back. I've attached notes to the front page of that one." Peter glances down at the tablet. "You've got nothing until 2:00pm. Would prefer lunch at twelve or one?"

"Twelve," Chris answers, because he skipped breakfast this morning and the sooner lunch comes around, the better.

Peter nods, tapping his tablet as he leaves the office, closing the door behind him.

~

Peter's only been there for a few weeks and Chris is wondering how the hell he ever survived without the other man. The number of meetings he's had to attend has dropped considerably due to Peter vetting all the requests and bouncing most of them back to the department heads. There's hot coffee and a muffin waiting for Chris each morning, and he's actually been able to leave work on time twice in the past week.

The only thing that's bringing the whole thing down is the work order from Jameson. There's something wrong with the report that Chris can't quite put his finger on, and he's not prepared to give it its sign off until he's fully happy with it.

"You look stressed. Jameson?"

Chris looks up at where Peter is standing next to the door. "Yes," he replies. He scrubs a hand over his eyes. "There's something I'm missing and I just can't see it."

"Maybe you just need to relax," Peter says, stepping further into the office and shutting the door.

And Chris doesn't know what to expect, but it's not Peter closing the distance between them, it's not Peter turning Chris' chair before dropping to his knees. And it's certainly not Peter's steady hands reaching out to Chris' belt, fingers working to fish Chris' cock out.

And, fuck, just Peter's fingers around his dick has Chris getting hard. Because it's been too long since it was anything but his own hand wrapped around him, so he's amazed he doesn't come as soon as Peter's lips touch his cock.

Jesus. Chris can't keep his hands away, can't help but tangle his fingers in Peter's hair as Peter sucks him, teeth and tongue and lips all working over Chris' flesh.

And it's over embarrassingly quickly, Chris groaning as he shoots his load down Peter's throat, groaning as Peter swallows it all.

Peter tucks Chris away, fastening Chris' trousers before getting to his feet, brushing off a stray drop of Chris' come from the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licking it off.

"There," Peter says, "now maybe you'll be able to see what's bothering you about Jameson's report."

Chris watches Peter as he leaves, and he's not entire sure what just happened, if he's being honest. Not entirely sure when Peter decided sucking Chris' cock was part of his job description. But he does feel more relaxed, more refreshed. And he definitely feels more willing to tackle Jameson's report.

Picking up his pen and highlighting the sections he has concerns with, Chris can't help but glance up at the door, even though he can't see through the wood to Peter's desk, can't see if Peter is sitting out there, still tasting Chris on his lips.

He's part way through writing a note on the report when his computer chimes, a meeting plan waiting to be accepted into his calendar.

2:00pm. 'Relaxation.'

Peter's marked 30 minutes out of Chris' time each day.

Chris smiles as he thinks of Peter on his knees, of Peter's lips wrapped around his dick. And he wonders if, maybe, they'll progress to Peter bent over the desk. Because Peter wears trousers that hug his ass every time he bends over, and Chris isn't blind.

And he doesn't even think twice about it as he clicks 'accept.'


	38. Chris/Victoria/Peter - sub!Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris and Victoria see Peter on his knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt of: Chris and Victoria with Peter as their sub?

It would happen when the Argents move to Beacon Hills. Maybe Chris and Victoria go to a club. And they're both dominant, so the way they work is by taking someone home. Taking them home, and taking them apart, and then kissing them goodbye in the morning. Because it only ever lasts for a night.

And then they see Peter in the club. On his knees, with his hands behind his back, and kneeling so perfectly for the man next to him.

Peter stiffens when he scents them, scents gun oil and aconite and the subtle perfume that Victoria always wears. He stiffens, but he doesn't move, doesn't break position, keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.

Chris and Vic introduce themselves to the man Peter is next to, and Victoria comments how good he looks on his knees and "Is he yours?" Because the club has couples who play together, and it has people looking for the right now.

"Only for tonight," the man replies, and that's when Chris and Vic decide that Peter's going to be theirs.

And they know it'll take some work. Never mind that they're hunters and he's a wolf, they've got the entire history between the Argents and the Hales to get over.

They watch as Peter gets strapped into the frame against the wall. Watched as he's worked over with the flogger. And they watch as it gets him hard, but they also watch as he holds back, as he doesn't let himself fall all the way.

They watch as the man who has claimed Peter for the night unstraps him, and hands him a bottle of juice as he rubs calming circles across Peter's back. They watch until Peter pulls away, and goes to leave.

It's Victoria who approaches him, just as he's leaving the club. Victoria who asks him if he's ever been with someone who knows what he is, if he's ever been with someone where he doesn't have to hold anything back. Asks if he's ever been with someone willing to put a wolf on their knees.

"And what would you do when I was on my knees for you, hunter?" Peter asks. "Put a bullet through my brain? Or maybe just set me on fire like that psychotic bitch of a sister-in-law liked to do. Or does Christopher want to get his rocks off before he gets his revenge."

"We're not after revenge, Peter," Victoria tells him, knowing he can hear the truth in her words. "Kate chose her path, and there's no one to blame for the outcome but her."

Peter's eyes narrow when he can't detect any lies in Victoria's words, but he doesn't respond. Just turns and walks to his car.

They see him in the club a few more times after that, always with a different person. And each time they watch him, make no attempt to mask the arousal they both feel when they see Peter on his knees.

And each time one of them approaches him as he's leaving, they ask him how he is, if he's fully back up, if there's anything else he needs.

It happens weeks after the first meeting at the club. Happens when Chris notices the tremors still running through Peter as he holds his car keys, notices the wide eyes that aren't really focusing on anything.

"You're not okay to drive, Peter," Chris comments, pulling his phone out and firing off a quick text to Victoria.

"I'm fine, Argent," Peter scoffs, but the words break in the middle.

And Peter may be a wolf, may survive wrapping his car around a tree, but Chris can't let him just drive away.

"Peter, stop. Give me your keys." Chris holds his hand, and he's not sure if it's Peter or himself who is more surprised when the wolf actually drops his car keys into Chris' palm.

Victoria's outside now, next to them. She takes in the scene in a single glance, takes in Chris holding Peter's car keys, and the way Peter has his fists clenched at his sides.

"We're taking you home." Her tone holds no room for argument.

And there's a moment where Peter just looks at her, a moment where she thinks he's just going to turn and be gone. But then he nods.

Chris drives while Vic sits in the back with Peter. And he's gravitating towards her, but keeps pulling himself back.

After the third time it happens, Vic reaches out, running her fingers through Peter's hair. He slowly leans against her, his eyes closing and an almost subvocal purr coming from him.

He doesn't argue with them when it's their house they pull up, and not his apartment. They ease him out of the car and into the house, Peter almost pliant between them. Allison is staying at Lydia's, so they don't worry about her wondering why they're bringing Peter Hale home at gone midnight.

They strip the wolf easily once they're in the bedroom, putting him in one of Chris' t-shirts and Peter's own shorts. Chris hands Peter off to Victoria while he quickly changes, taking him back to let her do the same.

The bed is big enough for three, and they put Peter between them.

"Get some sleep, Peter," Chris murmurs. "I promise you're safe here."

"What is this?" Peter says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This is us taking care of you," Victoria answers him. "This is us wanting you."

Peter succumbs to sleep easier than either of them had thought he would, being sandwiched between two hunters. He looks younger when he's asleep, his face free of the sarcasm and anger he carries with him.

"We're keeping him," Victoria says, her voice brooking no argument from Chris.

Not that he's going to give one, not that he doesn't want exactly the same thing Vic wants. Peter Hale, between them, taking everything they give him, strong and perfect in his submission. He thinks about Peter on his knees, lips wrapped around Chris' cock as he gags on the length. Thinks about sliding into Peter's ass while his face is between Vic's thighs. Thinks about Peter writhing and begging as Vic pushes into him with her strap-on.

"We're keeping him," she repeats, her voice softer this time.

Yes, Chris thinks. Yes, we are.


	39. Chris/Victoria/Peter - After the coma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter wakes up from the coma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cyberratting asked: AU in which virgin!Peter wakes up from coma after two or three years and is sweetly confused as he wanders through the streets with his scars and everything, stumbling either across some bad company or Victoria/Chris <3

Peter wakes up and somehow manages to get out of the care home he's in. Only, he's not entirely coherent, and the scars haven't healed yet.

And it's a miracle that it's Chris and Victoria who find him, a miracle that it isn't one of Gerard's hunters, who'd have little hesitation in just putting Peter down.

"Chris?" Peter sounds confused when Chris reaches out for him, but he goes with him. And Chris wonders if maybe the wolf is remembering what they used to be to each other back before the fire and Katie, back before his father found out about them.

Victoria knows about their shared history, Chris has never kept anything from her. She knows that they met, and they fell for each other. She knows that Peter is the other major love of her husband's life, even if they never consummated it, even if it all went to hell before they could take that step.

So, they bundle him up in Chris' jacket and get him to the car, taking him back to theirs.

It's an interesting conversation that they have with Allison, and it involves some tears and some questions, but their daughter is every inch the strong young woman they raised her to be, and when she reaches out to hug them both, they know they made the right choice in telling her the truth about who Peter was.

Peter steadily gets better over the next few weeks, the scars fading and his mind clearing.

He stays with them even after he's recovered, talking with Victoria and helping Allison with homework. And edging around Chris in that careful way that says he wants to reach out and touch but won't.

It's Victoria who makes the first move, Victoria who asks Peter to stay when he walks in on them kissing.

Allison is out for the night, staying at Lydia's, and when Chris leans just that bit too close to reach something next to Victoria, she can't help but take hold of his shirt and tug him the rest of the way.

It's the noise from the doorway that makes them realise Peter is there, soft and careful and full of want.

He goes to leave when they look at him, but Victoria reaches out.

"Please, Peter. Stay?"

"What is this?" he asks, as he edges forward, slowly.

"A beginning?"

Because they've spoken about this, Chris and Victoria. Spoken about how Peter has slotted seamlessly into their lives, about how both of them have wondered about the three of them taking that final step.

"I've never--" Peter bites off the words, looking away.

"Then let us show you." Chris holds his hand out, holding it next to Vic's. And he's not ashamed to admit he's thought about this, has spoken to Victoria during the night about how it would be to have Peter in their bed. About how to would be to open the wolf up with his fingers and slide inside.

Peter stares at them for long moments, and Chris thinks that maybe he's going to shake his head, to walk away and leave them.

But then Peter nods, and carefully reaches out for both their hands.


	40. Chris/Peter - Age Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a young Peter is taken in by the Argents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the following: Imagine Chris taking you under his wing and that slowly growing into a relationship

Both the Argents and the Hales are hunter families, and thirteen year old Peter is one of the only survivors of a werewolf attack on his family. Laura, Derek and Cora are all young enough that they don't know about what their family did, young enough that they've got people all wanting to take them in. But not Peter.

Peter's too old to appeal to those families wanting to adopt babies, and he's been in trouble with the police for taking a weapon to school. (And it's not like he could tell the Sheriff that a wendigo had tracked Talia back to the house. Not like he could tell him that no one was leaving the house unarmed. Talia had promised the Sheriff she'd talk to her brother. If that talk had just been how to better conceal, well, it's not like the Sheriff had to know that.) And he knows about the supernatural, has been raised too many years as a hunter's child to slide into a normal family.

And then Chris Argent comes along. Tells Peter to pack, that he's coming with them.

And Peter knows Chris, knows the Argents. Their families worked together regularly. And, at least, this way, Peter doesn't have to go it alone, doesn't have to hide what he knows. He doesn't have to pretend that he's a normal teenager, whose only worries are the next chem test and if Jane Compton's going to let him kiss her at the school dance.

It takes a few months, but Peter starts to feel like he's got a family again. Allison's only a couple of years younger than he is, they fall into a sibling-like relationship surprisingly quickly. Even if it does feel weird to Peter suddenly being the older brother for a change.

And Victoria's not his mom, but she makes him brownies when he aces his English test and is the one who stays with him after he cries himself to sleep on the anniversary.

The hardest one to learn to live with is Chris. Mainly because Talia used to tease Peter about the crush he had on the older hunter, and Peter isn't sure if Chris knows about it. (He assumes not, since Chris doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Peter to adjust his stance slightly, or to grip him tightly when he's showing Peter how to pin someone down.)

It's good for a few years, and then they lose Victoria in a werewolf attack. And Peter holds it together through the ceremony, Allison's hand tightly in his. But when they're back at the house, he locks himself in his room, because he just buried another mother, just lost another parent to those monsters.

Peter's 21 when it changes, when Chris touches him with something akin to care and tenderness. He holds his breath when Chris' hand cups his face, when lips touch his. And he wonders if they've been heading this way for a while. It's been four years since Victoria was killed, and Peter knows Chris has been on dates here and there, and he knows none of them have ever worked out.

He follows Chris, as Chris leads him through to the bedroom, reaching out to touch as their clothes come off. And it feels right when Chris slides inside Peter, because Peter's been half in love with Chris for years and he's wrapped his fingers around himself to thoughts of this more times than he can count.

When it's over, when Chris' head is pillowed on Peter's stomach and Peter's fingertips are running over Chris' shoulder, Peter can't help but ask. Can't help but wonder what's going to happen next.

"I don't know," Chris admits. He reaches up and catches the fingers dancing over his shoulder. "I don't know, but I'm willing to find out."

And that's good enough for Peter.


	41. Chris/Peter/Derek - First Time Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is on his knees and Chris is watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an imagine stating: Imagine giving Derek a blowjob while Chris is watching

Derek's on the sofa, legs spread wide and jeans open, with his hard cock sticking out of them.

And Peter, on his knees in front of his nephew, his hands on Derek's thighs as he curls his tongue around Derek's cock.

Derek's hand is on Peter's head, fingers gripping strands of hair, and fighting against the urge to tug Peter down, to hunch his hips up until his cock is all the way down Peter's throat.

And Chris is next to Derek, his arm along the back of the sofa and fingers curled around the back of Derek's neck. He's hard, cock straining behind his jeans, but this isn't about him, not this time.

"Take him deeper," Chris says, and Peter shifts forward, more of Derek's hard flesh sliding between his lips.

Derek closes his eyes, and Chris squeezes the back of his neck lightly. Because he wants Derek to watch this. Wants Derek to see his uncle, on his knees, lips wide around Derek's cock, precome slicking his mouth.

Derek whines, and Chris doesn't know what Peter's doing, but he can guess. Can guess how teeth and tongue and lips are working Derek's cock. Because Chris has been here before, and Peter is good at this. Is good at being on his knees, at taking a cock into his mouth and worshipping it like it's the most important thing in his life.

Derek's hand, the one not tangled in his uncle's hair, is on the sofa, claws out and ripping tears into the fabric as Derek desperately tries to keep himself from just grabbing Peter and _taking_.

Because he wants this, he's wanted it for years. Wants Peter on his knees, gagging on Derek's cock and marked up in a way that screams out to every wolf around them just who Peter belongs to.

"Please--" Derek can't stop the word from slipping out, can't stop the way he wants to fuck up into warm and wet and perfect.

"Look at him, Derek," Chris says lightly, waiting until Derek opens his eyes, waiting until Derek looks down, dark eyes wide and bright blue bleeding into them. "Look at him on his knees for you."

Chris feels his own cock throb in sympathy as Peter slides back up, tongue running over the underside of Derek's cock until only the head is left in his mouth. Feels his cock throb as Peter meets his nephew's gaze, a smirk on his lips as he swallows Derek back down to the root.

Because as much as Derek wants this, Peter wants it too. Wants to feel his nephew in him, hard and hot and solid, as he takes what he wants from Peter. He wants to be laid out and broken open, Chris on one side and Derek on the other, both of them moving over him, in him.

He wants the three of them to be unstoppable.

And this? This is only the beginning.


	42. Derek/Peter - The Pack Overhearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scott and Isaac hear more than they anticipated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt of: halecest with betas listening

The pack know that it's happening. Know that nothing else could explain the way Derek and Peter's scents intermingle so closely, or the way their alpha rests his hand on the back of his uncle's neck in easy possession. (Even if Peter shakes off Derek's touch if it lasts for too long, even if he rolls his eyes at his nephew's territorial display.)

But knowing it is different from _knowing_ it. And none of them are born wolves, except for Cora. None of them have grown up in a pack, used to the easy touches and open sexuality that happens when you're raised in a family that can hear and smell so much more.

So when Cora suggests going back to the loft after they've been out for the afternoon, no one thinks anything of it. Not until the door's sliding open and Scott nearly walks into the back of Isaac because the other boy just stopped.

"Isaac--"

Scott trails off, because he can hear why Isaac stopped, can hear the _Yes--_ and the _Harder--_ and the _Derek--_ Can hear the _Fuck--_ and the _Take it--_ and the _Peter--_

"Are they?" Scott looks at Cora, who has already dropped her bag on the couch and is heading to the fridge.

"Fucking?" she replies, not looking back at him. "Yeah."

Scott and Isaac glance at each other before following her in. Because they don't know if they should be here, don't know if this is something they should be hearing.

Only, Cora's pulling the orange juice out of the fridge and pouring three glasses like the fact that her brother is in another room fucking their uncle means nothing.

"Should we leave?" Isaac asks.

"No, it's fine," she replies, holding out one of the glasses and staring at Isaac until he takes it. "They heard us coming up in the lift."

She nods towards the bed near the window, and that's when Scott realises it's unmade, covers pulled back and sheets rumpled like someone had been clawing at them.

A groan splits the air, and Scott recognises it as Peter. And he can't help but imagine the two of them. Can't help but imagine Peter, under Derek and split open on his nephew's cock. Can't help but imagine the sarcastic bastard that is Peter Hale begging for Derek's knot. (And, yeah, that was a surprise the first time he'd jerked off after being bitten.)

"Seriously, Scott?" Cora wrinkles her nose, but there's an amused grin on her face, and Scott can't stop the blush that comes to his cheeks.

He knows that he's probably flooding the air himself right now, but he can't help it. Not when he can hear Derek telling Peter that it's so good, and he's so tight around Derek's knot. Not when he can hear the _Gonna fill you right up--_ and the _You're gonna be leaking me for hours--_

He risks a glance at Isaac, and the flush on Isaac's face tells Scott that he's hearing it all, as well. Tells Scott that it's not just him having that reaction to hearing Peter get fucked.

Cora rolls her eyes at them both. "Seriously, you're both as bad as each other."

But Scott wonders how she isn't reacting, wonders when this became so usual for her that she just tunes it out.

"It's what happens in a pack, Scott," she says, when he asks her. "When you grow up hearing and smelling it all, people stop trying to hide it. You'll get used to it."

But Scott's not sure if he ever will.


	43. Chris/Peter - Peter masturbating for Chris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter masturbates for Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off a post on the imaginesteenwolf Tumblr: Imagine Chris asking you to masturbate while he watches you

It's not that Peter minds the request. He's been on his knees in front of Chris while the hunter comes down his throat, so Chris asking Peter to jerk off for him is nothing. It's that he didn't realise it would be like this.

Didn't realise he'd be on Chris' bed, naked and surrounded by the scent of not only Chris, but of himself. Surrounded by the scent of both of them, ground into the sheets, the pillows, the comforter. Ground in by night after night of Chris fucking into him, of spilling himself inside Peter's body.

Didn't realise Chris would be sitting on the chair, a few feet away from the bed and fully clothed, watching Peter intently.

"Slowly, pup. I want you to start slowly."

Chris' voice is low, careful, the words no more than a breath as Peter wraps his fingers around his cock. He's not totally hard, but he's not soft, either. Hasn't been since he walked into the bedroom, since Chris sat down and told Peter to strip and get on the bed.

Peter runs his fingers over his cock, feeling it stiffen further under his touch.

"That's it, Peter. Just go lightly."

Peter bites his lower lip at Chris' request, burying the urge to tighten his grip, to strip his cock roughly until he comes.

"Softly, pup. I want you to barely feel your fingers."

Peter can't help the whine that comes at Chris' words, glaring at the man when the only answer is a huff of laughter.

"Brush over your balls," Chris says, obviously ignoring the look Peter's giving him.

Dipping his fingers further down, Peter runs his fingertips lightly over his balls, feeling them twitch gently. He starts to roll them in his fingers, starts to—

" _Lightly_ , pup."

Peter snatches his fingers away, the "You're a bastard, Argent," dropping easily from his lips.

Chris just hums in agreement. "But I'm your bastard, Peter. Now, go back to your cock."

Peter trails a finger up his cock, the fully hard flesh hot under his touch. There's a bead of precome at the tip, and he brushes it with his thumb, slicking what liquid is there down his shaft.

"Wrap your fingers around yourself."

Finally.

Peter does as Chris asks, his fingers encircling his dick.

"Jack yourself, but not too fast. Use your precome to ease the way."

Peter starts to move his fist over his cock, his thumb rubbing over his cockhead with each pass, gathering more and more precome, the slick glide of skin over skin becomes easier with each passing second.

"Now, close your eyes, Peter. Close your eyes, but don't stop jerking your cock."

Peter does as Chris asks, closes his eyes. And barely a beat passes before--

"Tell me what you can smell."

"Me," Peter replies, breathing deeply. "You. Both of us."

"You know why you can smell both of us, pup?" Chris asks, not waiting for a response before he continues. "Because every night for the past month you've been in that bed with me."

And Peter thinks Chris is wrong, but he can't remember the last time he spent a night at his apartment. Can't remember the last time he was there for anything other than a shower or a change of clothes or picking something up.

"Do you remember last night, Peter? When I slid my fingers inside you and opened you up for my cock?"

"Yes--" Peter's hips are hitching into the air slightly as he slowly fucks his fist. Hitching into the air as he recalls Chris pushing into him, recalls his body opening up around the hunter's hard flesh.

"Or the night before that? When I held your hips down as I sucked you. Do you remember the way you begged for me to let you come."

There's a whine in the air, and it takes Peter a second to realise it's coming from him. Because all he can feel is the warmth of Chris' mouth, the way Chris' tongue had flicked over his cock and lapped at the precome Peter had been leaking.

"Do you remember the yes and the please and the yours? Do you, Peter?"

It takes a moment to get the "Yes--" out, takes a moment to get the word past the dry, jagged heat of his own throat.

"That's why you can smell both of us, pup. Because that's not just my bed any more, it's ours."

Peter's cock jumps sharply in his hand, a spurt of precome running over his fingers.

"No more denying it, Peter. No more claiming this is anything other than what it is."

"And what is it?" Because Peter has to ask, has to know.

"It's _us_ , Peter. Together." Chris' voice is steady, sure. "If you want it."

And this is what it's been leading to. Peter, open and wanting and being carried on no more than Chris' voice. Peter, trusting himself to a hunter, and having a hunter trust right back. It's there. All he has to do is take it.

"Yes." It's the easiest word Peter's ever spoken.

"Then come for me, pup."

And Peter opens his eyes, meets Chris' gaze, and lets himself fall.


	44. Chris/Peter - Priest!AU, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is still a priest and Peter is definitely still Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow up to [chapter 13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1543319/chapters/4135308).

Peter Hale's not at Chris' sermon the following Sunday, nor the Sunday after that. And Chris tells himself he's not looking, not waiting to see sharp blue eyes studying him, but it doesn't stop his gaze from drifting over to where Talia and Andrew Hale are sitting, the spot next to them conspicuously empty.

Chris knows he should be grateful that Peter hasn't come back, should be hoping that the man stays as far away from Chris as he possibly can. But all Chris can remember is the heat of Peter's mouth as he'd closed his lips around Chris' cock, the depth of want in his blue eyes as he'd kept his gaze fixed on Chris'. He wraps his fingers around himself each night, thinking of the way Peter had swallowed him down, the way he'd left Chris leaning against the altar as he'd stood, the way he'd wiped a thumb over his lower lip to catch a drop of Chris' essence before lapping it off his skin.

He strokes himself in the darkness, shuddering his way to completion as he remembers Peter leaning forward, breath brushing across Chris' skin before he speaks, before the _"I'll be seeing you soon, Christopher--"_ is murmured into his ear, words soft like they're a benediction, a prayer, a promise.

And he knows he shouldn't want to see Peter Hale. Shouldn't want the other man anywhere near him. And he definitely shouldn't feel the growing disappointment with each day that passes. But he does. And that, Chris thinks, is the worst part of it.

-o-

It's a month after Chris first encountered Peter Hale that he sees him again, sitting next to his sister as Chris heads to the pulpit. Sitting there, a soft smile on his face, like he hadn't had those lips wrapped around Chris a few weeks ago, like his tongue hadn't darted out to lap at the come that had run from them as he'd pulled away from Chris.

Chris goes through his sermon on autopilot, words about tolerance and respect falling from his mouth when the only thing running around his head is how Peter Hale looked on his knees. And part of Chris wishes Peter had never shown up here again, had left Chris with only the memory of his temptation. But the rest of Chris? Oh, the rest of him _wants_.

Chris makes it to the end of the sermon, makes it through shaking hands and friendly touches and talking with people as they leave. And with every person he speaks to, every person who walks past him, the only thing he can think of is that he hasn't seen Peter leave the church.

He closes the church doors behind him once everyone's gone, bolt sliding heavily across the wood. And even though the house of God should always be open, even though it should always be a refuge for those that need it, Chris is too focused on the figure sitting on the altar to do anything beyond close the church off to anyone else.

Peter smiles at Chris as he walks closer, legs swinging gently like he's a child on a stool that's too tall for him.

"Christopher. It's been a while. Did you miss me?"

Chris doesn't answer. He doesn't answer, because he can't say no. Is too sure that Peter will know that he's lying. And he can't say yes. Because a yes will admit that Chris has been thinking about Peter on his knees, about Peter's tongue wrapped around him. Will admit that each night saw Chris with Peter's name on his lips as he spilled into his fingers.

Peter's smile morphs into something more knowing, darker. "Should I take the silence as a yes, Christopher?"

Peter pushes himself off the altar, standing just as Chris reaches him. And Chris knows he should tell Peter to leave, knows that the thoughts he's having right now (Peter, on his knees, so perfect, all invitation wrapped up in sin) have no place here.

But the words won't make it past the rocks in his throat, sharp and jagged, bitter with the sharp taste of apples.

Peter's closer now, his breath warm against Chris' cheek as he leans forward.

"Did you think about me Christopher? I thought about you."

And Chris wants to ask, wants to know. But he fears the question as much as the answer. Fears that if he voices it, it becomes real, becomes more than a passing (consuming, overwhelming, encompassing) thought in the darkness.

"Do you know what I thought?" Peter is asking, his eyes too bright, too blue in the light of the church.

Peter reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Chris' wrist and lifting it, brushing Chris' hand against his cheek, against the corner his mouth.

"I thought about your fingers, Christopher."

Peter's lips move across Chris' skin as he speaks.

"I thought about them sliding into my body, opening me up for you."

Peter's lips open slightly, the tip of his tongue dragging along Chris' little finger.

Chris' breath is a shudder, his eyes closing for a second, snapping open at Peter's low huff of laughter.

"Do you like the thought of that, Father?"

Yes. Yes, he does. And Peter knows it. He knows it because he's moving closer, his body against Chris' as he continues.

"Do you think about it at night? Think about me, under you. Wanting. Pleading. My body is a sacrament, Christopher. Will you worship?"

Tugging his wrist out of Peter's loose grip, Chris clenches his fingers. And there's a moment when Chris honestly thinks he's going to step away from Peter, going to end this before it goes further. End it with the memory of Peter's mouth and single moment of temptation.

And then he looks at Peter, watches as Peter's tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip. There's the soft scent of balsam in the air, and Chris' hand is on Peter's cheek before he even realises he's moved. His thumb rubs over Peter's lips, feeling the movement under his touch as Peter slowly smiles.

"Will you worship?" Peter repeats, his voice low and careful, the words mouthed against Chris' skin.

Will he worship? Yes. God help him. Yes, he will.

And Chris knows he is lost.


	45. Chris/Peter - University Lecturer AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is Allison's Mythology lecturer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a post from imaginesteenwolf on Tumblr: Imagine being Allison's college tutor and fucking her father behind her back

Chris hadn't expected to have that sudden flare of arousal hit him the first time he met Professor Hale, standing in the campus coffee shop Allison had taken him to. When Allison had first mentioned her Mythology lecturer, the mental image Chris had been left with certainly wasn't one with sharp blue eyes, tight jeans, and an ass Chris thinks should be a sin.

Hale's grip is warm, sure, and the "Please, call me Peter," that drops from his lips just has Chris focusing on the guy's mouth.

It's almost a relief that Hale, that _Peter_ , is only there to grab coffee before going back to his office, because Chris honestly isn't too sure if he'd be able to control his cock if he had to watch Peter's lips on the edge of the cup, if he had to watch Peter's throat as he swallowed.

It's only a few nights later that Chris sees Peter again, sees him dancing in a club that's not exactly to Chris' taste. But the beer is good, and Chris has a need to get a hard body under him, and this is the quickest way.

He hadn't noticed Peter at first, the other man on the dance floor and surrounded by a sea of bodies. But once he spots him, Chris can't tear his eyes away.

The jeans Peter's wearing are even tighter than they were the last time they met, and Chris is pretty sure most of the buttons on that shirt aren't even fastened.

There's a guy with his hand on Peter's ass, but Peter just laughs and dances away from him, heading towards the bar. His steps falter slightly when he sees Chris, but only for a second.

"Why, Mr Argent, fancy seeing you here."

They're in the back room within minutes, Peter's back against the wall and Chris' hand down his jeans.

"Back pocket," Peter gasps out as Chris pumps his cock.

And Chris isn't completely sure if Peter Hale intended to get fucked tonight, but it's the only reason he can think to explain the condom and packet of lube in the guy's pocket.

They stagger towards the toilets, and Chris is sure that at least three people follow them, hanging around as they slam into a cubicle, as Chris spins Peter and presses him against the door.

He tugs Peter's jeans down to just under his ass before pulling his own cock out, rolling the condom down on it.

"Come on," Peter says, pressing his ass back.

"Patience," Chris responds, tearing open the packet of lube and squeezing it onto his fingers.

Peter's tight when Chris' fingers slide inside, and Chris knows the prep is fast and hurried, and nowhere near as much as he would do if they were in an actual bed for this. Pulling his fingers out and wiping the lube still on them over his latex covered cock, Chris guides himself to Peter's ass, sinking inside in one steady thrust.

The moan Peter gives reverberates around the room and he reaches back, his fingers digging into Chris' hip. "Fuck me."

It's a demand Chris has no intention of disobeying.

Peter's hot and tight around Chris' cock, and Chris knows he's not going to last, not with Peter writhing and begging and pleading with Chris to go harder, faster.

The door rattles as Chris fucks into Peter, the creaking a base accompaniment to Peter's shuddered gasps.

Chris wraps his hand around Peter's cock, jacking him in time with the thrusts into his body.

Peter's cock is jumping in his hand, soft noises and groans coming from him, until he's coming over Chris' fingers and against the door.

The sudden clenching of Peter's body around him has Chris following him over the edge, has Chris coming with a bitten off moan that's muffled against Peter's shoulder.

The filled condom goes down the toilet after Chris pulls out, the two of them rearranging their clothes until they're at least somewhat presentable.

"So, how about going for coffee sometime?" Peter asks, blue eyes bright in the sharp light as he opens the cubicle door and walks out.

Chris huffs a laugh, because he's pretty sure they've just done this backwards. It doesn't stop him from saying yes, though.


	46. Chris/Peter - Peter gets turned temporarily female

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter discovers multiple orgasms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: If Peter were ever turned into a woman, how long would it be before he actually stopped playing with himself and got out of bed to tell someone?

(Days. Weeks. In fact, he wouldn’t.)

It would be Chris who found out. Because Peter isn’t at the pack meeting, even though Derek had texted him to tell him that they needed him there, needed the knowledge he had from treaties Talia had made with the other packs. And, of course, Peter isn’t there.

Chris hasn’t arrived yet, either, so Derek rings him, asks if Chris can go by Peter’s and collect him. The ‘Get him here however you can’ isn’t voiced, it doesn’t need to be.

There’s no answer when Chris gets to Peter’s, but the wolf’s car is parked outside the apartment block, so Chris knows he’s there. It only takes a minute for Chris to pick the lock, for him to be inside Peter’s apartment.

He can hear the noises as soon as he steps inside, the soft moaning that draws him through the living room and along into the bedroom.

The woman is lying on Peter’s bed, her legs spread and her hand between her thighs. She’s working a dildo into her pussy, soft gasps and moans. The scent of arousal in the air is so thick that even Chris can smell it, and it makes his cock start to harden behind his jeans.

He doesn’t know if he makes a noise, doesn’t know if it’s the step he takes further into the room, but something makes her look up, makes her open her eyes.

Chris is pinned by blue eyes, too sharp and too bright. And Chris knows those eyes, is haunted by the thought of them looking up at him while his cock is sucked into hot and wet, while--

"Peter?"

And Peter’s thighs clench around his fingers when Chris speaks his name, clench around his fingers as he comes.

Chris can’t stop himself from walking forward, from closing the distance between him and the bed.

Peter looks up at him from his prone position, sprawled out across the bed.

"How? What?" Chris isn’t sure what question he’s asking, but he wants to know how this happened, why there’s now breasts (full and magnificent, and fuck Peter Hale for now being the owner of what Chris can see is an amazing pair of tits) on Peter’s chest and a pussy between his legs.

"You know those pixies in the Preserve?" Peter says, his voice higher than Chris is used to hearing from the wolf, shot through with sated want.

Chris does. The pixie colony had moved into the Preserve last year, drawn by the power of the Nemeton.

"Don’t piss them off," is the comment that meets Chris’ nod. "Unless you like multiple orgasms." Peter pauses. “I may be pissing them off again once this wears off.”

"It’s not permanent?"

"Couple weeks. Which means you can tell my nephew I won’t be at the pack meeting. I’ve got more important things to deal with."

More important things being the vibrator Peter is reaching out for, pressing the switch on the base with an unholy glee in his eyes.

Chris can’t tear his eyes away as Peter presses the buzzing toy to his thigh, edging it over his skin until it dips into the slick folds Chris can see.

The groan that comes from Peter has Chris throbbing, his cock pressing against denim and itching to be free. And there’s something about Peter, thighs open as he rubs the vibrator over his clit. Something about the stuttered out moans and the breathy pants.

And Chris doesn’t think about it as he sits on the bed, doesn’t think about it as he reaches out and wraps his fingers over Peter’s, guiding the vibrator further down to dip into Peter’s pussy.

Peter’s eyes are open, wide and fixed on Chris. And Peter’s not pulling away, not swiping at Chris and demanding he leaves.

"Put your hands on the bed," Chris orders softly, a flash of heat running through him when Peter obeys. He presses the toy further into Peter, his other hand flicking open the buttons on his jeans to free his cock.

He presses the button on the base, kicking the vibrator up a setting as he starts to pump it in and out of Peter. Peter’s whining, a low keen in the back of his throat, but he’s keeping his hands on the bed, fingers fisting into the sheet below him.

"Please--"

Leaving the toy buzzing in Peter’s cunt, Chris presses his thumb against Peter’s clit. It only takes a touch, only takes Chris twisting his thumb just so, and Peter’s howling, coming around the vibrator still buried in him.

Chris is watching him, wanting the shudders running through the wolf’s body. And he wants to feel it. Wants to feel Peter around him, slick and hot. Wants to feel Peter coming on his cock. Wants to be the first flesh and blood cock to open Peter’s new pussy up.

"Yes--"

Peter is staring at him, all want and need and shivering tension. And Chris thinks that maybe he said that last part out loud.

"Yes, Chris. Fuck me--"

And Chris thinks that maybe he’s waited years to hear those words from Peter Hale. Thinks that maybe this is where the comments and the looks and the touching that nearly happens every time they’re next to each other have all been leading.

Chris strips quickly, dropping his clothes to the floor. Peter’s already pulled the vibrator out of himself, has already spread his legs even further, to accommodate Chris between them.

And it’s not how Chris thought this would happen, soft curves under him, instead of hard flesh. Sinking into a wet cunt instead of a tight ass. But it’s Peter. It’s still all Peter. And when Chris bottoms out, fully inside the wolf and feeling Peter ripple around him, Chris knows he’s never going to be able to give this up.


	47. Chris/Peter - Imagine a club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are things to imagine

Imagine Chris and Peter walking into a club. Imagine Chris taking a position at the bar, a beer in one hand and a bottle of water next to him, condensation running down it.

Imagine Peter moving out onto the dance floor, jeans so tight they hug his ass perfectly.

Imagine Chris watching, bringing to bottle to his lips and letting the cold alcohol slide down his throat. Imagine the slight upturn at the corner of Chris' mouth as he watches people sidle up behind Peter, trying to get the wolf to move their rhythm.

Imagine Peter moving just out of reach every time someone reaches out for him.

Imagine someone finally snagging Peter, pulling him flush against their body. Imagine as the music pounds through Peter's body as he grinds against this stranger behind him.

Imagine a voice in Peter's ear, telling him that they should go into the back room, telling Peter that they want him on his knees.

Imagine Peter smirking. Imagine the response of how the only person he'll go to his knees for isn't the one pressed up against him.

Imagine Chris watching as Peter smoothly twists away from the man trying to keep him on the dance floor. Imagine Chris' legs sliding open, allowing Peter to slot in between them as soon as he reaches Chris.

Imagine Peter picking the bottle of water off the bar, throat working as he drinks it down. Imagine Chris hooking a finger in Peter's jeans, tugging him forward until he's close enough that Chris can capture Peter's lips with his own.

Imagine Chris sliding off the stool he's sitting on, not releasing his hold on Peter's jeans as he leads him through to the back room.

Imagine a room, dimly lit enough to maintain an illusion of anonymity. Imagine bodies moving against each other, and the sound of moans in the air.

Imagine Chris leaning against the wall and flicking the buttons on his own jeans open. Imagine him pulling his hard cock out and telling Peter to get to his knees.

Imagine Chris looking over and seeing the guy from the dance floor, seeing him watching Peter with hunger in his gaze.

Imagine Peter not having eyes for anyone else as he drops to his knees. Imagine him wrapping his hands around Chris' thighs to steady himself. Imagine him opening his lips and swallowing Chris down.

Imagine Peter working teeth and tongue and lips, taking Chris all the way down before moving back to pull in deep gulps of air.

Imagine Chris' fingers in Peter's hair, guiding the wolf forward and holding Peter against him for a beat of one, two, three, before releasing the hold he knows Peter can break easily.

Imagine a stranger watching them, his hand working over his own cock as he fixes his eyes on Peter, wishing he was the one with Peter's mouth on him.

Imagine if that stranger isn't the only one.

Imagine Chris coming down Peter's throat, and Peter swallowing it all. Imagine Peter, hard and straining behind his jeans, but not touching himself until Chris says he can.

Imagine Peter, kneeling at Chris' feet, as he releases his own cock and jerks himself sharply, once, twice, before he's coming, spilling into his own hand.

Imagine Chris telling him to clean himself up, and Peter licking his own come from his fingers.

Imagine Chris tucking himself back into his jeans before he helps Peter to his feet, before he reaches out and carefully cups Peter's dick, slipping the soften flesh back into denim and fastening the buttons.

Imagine Peter's eyes, wide and heavy as he coasts on the scent of the arousal around them, on the sound of skin moving over skin, on the taste of Chris on his tongue.

Imagine Chris' arm around Peter as he leads him out of the back room, out of the club.

Imagine people watching them go, all of them wishing they were the one who Peter went to his knees for.

Imagine Chris taking Peter home, his wolf soft and pliant in a way that Chris loves. Imagine Chris wrapping his arms around Peter and knowing that he's never going to let him go.


	48. Chris/Peter/Sheriff - Taking Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris and the Sheriff take turns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff's name (until canon proves me wrong) is John.
> 
> -o-
> 
> Based on an imaginesteenwolf prompt: Imagine Sheriff Stilinski and Chris Argent taking turns to see who can make you moan louder.

Maybe it's Peter's birthday, maybe they're celebrating something, maybe it's the anniversary of the fire and Peter tells them he just wants to forget.

Whatever it is, they've got Peter between them on the bed. And normally, they'll do this together, double team Peter until he's a wrecked, shivering mess between them. But not this time.

This time, Chris sits back while John's hands move over Peter's skin, while his fingers pinch lightly at the wolf's nipples before moving lower. They skim over Peter's stomach, down onto his thighs. And Peter's legs open easily, spreading without thinking about it.

"That's it, pup," John murmurs, reaching to take the lube that Chris is holding out to him. He squeezes some on his fingers before giving the tube back to Chris. He presses them between Peter's ass cheeks, slipping inside Peter's body easily.

Peter bites his lower lip as John's fingers move in and out of him, curling when they're inside him and spreading him open.

John's talking while he fingers Peter, telling the wolf how soft he is inside, how perfectly he's clinging to John's fingers. Telling him how he can't wait until him and Chris are both inside Peter, marking him up.

John's still talking when Chris' voice joins him. Still talking when Chris reaches out to roll one of Peter's nipples between finger and thumb.

Chris' words are harsher than John's. John's words are soft and careful, talking about how perfect Peter's being for him, how good he is every time John slides into him. But not Chris'. Chris' words are low, hard, telling Peter how much of a slut he is for both of them.

The nipple Chris has been working is reddened and swollen before Chris finally leaves it alone, dragging his nails across Peter's chest.

It's a dichotomy in Peter's head, a split across the two men he's sandwiched between. John's voice, light and cajoling, his fingers carefully moving into Peter. And Chris', harsh and demanding, as his nails leave red trails across Peter's flesh.

And he wants it both, _needs_ it both. Wants to be John's good boy, his perfect pup, willing to kneel and have anything John can give him. But he also needs to be Chris' whore, with the hunter's hand wrapped around his throat and his vision greying out on the edges as Chris forces him to just take it.

John keeps him human, and Chris keeps him sane. But it's only together that they can keep him grounded.


	49. Chris/Peter - Female!Peter ends up pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Petra Hale ends up with a little more than she planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a comment from [Arabwel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/): There needs to be more fem!Peter because I want to read a fifty thousand words of Chris fucking her senseless (and the resulting pups, natch)

You mean something like Chris and Petra fucking after yet another fight in the Preserve with yet another pack of wolves who seem to think that Beacon Hills is there for the taking, who seem to think that just because there's no longer a Hale alpha around that the territory is free to anyone.

Something like adrenaline still running through both of them, and neither one of them is sure of who moves first, but the next thing they know, Petra's back is against a tree and her legs are around Chris' waist while Chris' cock fucks into her.

"Come on, Argent, fuck me," she growls out, as Chris tangles his fingers in her hair, tugging her head to one side to bite down on her neck.

And Petra's cunt clenches down as Chris' teeth leave their mark in her skin, the claws she can't stop from coming out scoring slices down the back of Chris' leather jacket.

It's fast and it's violent, with growled out insults and curses from both of them, until Chris' hand works its way between their bodies, until he presses down on Petra's clit, and she's howling out her orgasm, her body rippling against Chris. Chris fucks her through it, fucks her until she's finished, her body shaking, then he thrusts once, twice, before he's muffling a groan into her shoulder, his cock spurting inside her.

They're silent afterwards, rearranging clothing and not looking at each other as they leave in opposite directions.

And Petra thinks that's it, that it was one moment of insanity where a wolf and a hunter fucked. But then she's not feeling too good, she's throwing up and her stomach rebelling at food. And there's a niggling thought inside of her, a small kernel of panic that she knows exactly what's wrong with her.

The pharmacy on Main is empty when she buys the test, the young woman behind the counter not even looking at her as Petra gives over the money in her hand.

She's back home within the hour, waiting on a white stick stuck in a wine glass because that was the first thing she grabbed on her way through to the bathroom.

After only a few minutes, the mark on the stick appears, the little '+' sign telling her that she's apparently holding the next generation of both the Hales and Argents inside her. Well, fuck.

-o-

Chris isn't exactly sure what to say when Petra tells him. He swallows down on the first urge to ask, _is it mine?_ , because he knows it is, and also asking that of a woman with the ability to eviscerate him with her claws didn't strike Chris as the most sensible thing to do.

"Are you keeping it?" he asks, suddenly fearful of her answer, suddenly wondering if she'd decided to taunt him with this possibility just to snatch it away again.

But all she does is roll her eyes at him. "I'd hardly have told you if I wasn't, Argent. I'd have just taken care of it."

She tells everyone else at the next pack meeting, and Chris knows from Derek's lack of surprise at the news that Petra's already spoken to him beforehand, even if he doesn't know exactly what she's said to her nephew.

Out of the rest of them, Stiles is the one who asks who the father is. Even if he doesn't phrase it as politely, even if it's more of a query as to who the hell would be insane enough to risk their dick by sticking it in Petra Hale.

Petra just smiles, sharp and wolfish. "Why, Mr Stilinski? Do you want a play by play of how it happened? Of how my back hit the tree, and my claws dug into his skin as he thrust--"

"Mine," Chris cuts her off, the word out of his mouth before he even realises he's going to admit to it. "It's mine."

Petra's turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing like she's trying to work out exactly what Chris' angle is, exactly why he's laid claim to being the father of the child inside her. But there's no angle, no reason beyond the sudden flare of _Mine--_

Her gaze is drawn from Chris by Scott's, "But how? Why?"

"Well, Scott, sometimes a hunter and a wolf love each other very much. And sometimes they just feel the urge to fuck in the Preserve. I'll let you work out which one applies to me and Christopher."

Scott opens his mouth to reply, but Petra just carries on. "Anyway, now you all know. Now, if this little meeting is over," she says, standing up and picking her jacket of the couch, "I have better things to do with my time."

"Like what?" Stiles mutters. "Lurking in dark corners and getting impregnated by hunters?"

"You do realise, my dear Stiles, that even if I were in the middle of giving birth, I would still be able to rip your throat out with my claws." Petra smiles at the boy, light and airy and full of homicidal promise should Stiles deign to open his mouth again.

When nothing is forthcoming from either Stiles or anyone else in the pack, Petra heads towards the door, leaving silence and a set of eyes all staring at Chris like he has the answers, in her wake.


	50. Sheriff/Peter - Wolf!Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is forced into his wolf state

The pack weren't expecting to be attacked, and they certainly weren't expecting the hunters who did it to have something to force the wolves to turn feral. Only, Peter was the only one hit by it before they managed to take the hunters down. Forced into his wolf form and running from them before anyone can think to reach for him.

And now the pack have been searching the preserve for hours, but there’s no sign of Peter, and none of the wolves have been able to scent him.

And then John finds him, entirely by accident. Kind of stumbles across him, hiding in a hollowed out section of an old tree trunk, curled up on himself and whining.

“Peter?” Because he’s sure it's Peter, but it’s dark, and he’s going to feel all sorts of stupid if it turns out he’s talking to a coyote. “Peter, honey?” The endearment just slips out, and John can’t stop the wince that comes with it. Because they’ve never given a name to what they have, never called it anything beyond two people scratching an itch with each other. And if there are nights when Peter’s already at John’s house when he gets home, already waiting for him after days when the news he had to deliver wasn’t good, or his team got there just too late, then they’ve never voiced why.

John kneels down, reaching out a hand and silently cursing his knees and the fact that he’s not in his twenties any more. He stays quiet, with his hand outstretched, for what seems like an age, but is probably only just minutes.

And then Peter moves, uncurling himself and slowly creeping out from the tree, belly low to the ground and a soft whine still in his throat.

John doesn’t move, just waits for the wolf to come to him, to rest his head in John’s hand. Slowly lifting his other hand, John carefully runs his fingers over Peter’s fur. There are soft murmurs coming from him as he strokes Peter, whispering the gentle words he’s only ever voiced when Peter’s asleep, laid out in John’s bed, with John’s arms around him.

It’s another hour before the rest of the pack find them, John having shifted to a more comfortable position, Peter now back to human, naked and almost curled around John, his head in John’s lap as he sleeps.

The pack back away quietly when they see everything is okay, Stiles staying until John nods at him. His son turns to leave, pausing before heading back to them, pulling his oversized hoodie over his head. He drapes the warm hoodie carefully over Peter, and squeezes John briefly on the shoulder before following Scott out of the small clearing.

Peter’s starting to stir, and John doesn’t know if it was the sound of pack, or the sudden weight of the fabric now over him, but he waits quietly as Peter comes back to himself, his gaze meeting blue eyes, soft and unfocused, and not quite as sharp as John’s used to seeing them.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Peter doesn’t answer, just rubs his cheek against John’s thigh.

And John smiles, reaches down, and takes his wolf’s hand.


	51. Chris/Peter - Eurovision Song Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the following question was posed on Tumblr: Imagine your otp as two different eurovision candidates.

Chris Argent is singing for France, and it's a good song, a solid song. He's got a good team, and he thinks that they're in with a reasonable chance of winning.

They've been in Reykjavik for a week now, doing a bunch of press and rehearsals. And Chris gets on with most of the other entrants. (Although, if Spain grabs his ass one more time, he won't be responsible for what he does.)

The only one he can't gel with is the United Kingdom entry. Well, half of the United Kingdom entry. He gets on just fine with Melissa McCall, finds himself chatting to her quite regularly. But her partner? Chris thinks Peter Hale is the most smug, arrogant, condescending little bastard he's ever met. (And, no, the fact that his ass looks amazing in those jeans doesn't make up for it.)

And then the night of the competition rolls around. Chris is on third, and he nails it, he knows he does. He's smiling all the way back to the green room, right up until he steps into the commotion.

And when he asks one of the singers from the Austrian group what's happening, they tell him the UK's pulling out, that they're not going to perform.

He edges closer to where Peter Hale is talking to one of the producers. Turns out that Melissa's ill, that's she can't stop throwing up and is running a temp of 104. And even though she's saying she can perform, it's obvious to anyone looking that she can barely stay on her feet.

Peter laughs at the producer when it's suggested he goes on alone.

"It's a duet," Peter snaps. "A love song. I can't exactly sing that to myself!"

"I'll do it." The words are out of Chris' mouth before he can stop them. Because Chris has always been good at remembering lyrics, and he's been in all the rehearsals so far.

Peter's eyes are narrow as they look at him. The producer's spluttering behind him, saying that this is unprecedented, but Peter just glares the man into shutting up.

"Fine," Peter says, grabbing his tablet from where it was on the table where the UK team were sitting. "We're number 23; you need to know the bits in green by then."

Chris takes the tablet as Peter eyed him up and down, pulling Chris' jacket and tie off, and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. He rolled up the sleeves, as well, with a "You've got fucking amazing forearms, show them off for god's sake."

Chris sits, studying the tablet for as long as he can, and they've just called number 22 when Peter looks at him. "Can you actually do this?" he asks.

Chris nods. "Yeah."

Which is how Chris Argent walks onto the Eurovision stage for a second time in one night.

(They sing the song with as much passion as Peter and Mel had during rehearsals, and Chris finds himself drawn into it, finds himself moving into the kiss at the end. Peter's eyes widen slightly as Chris' lips meet his, and then there's a soft moan, and Peter's kissing him back.

They pull apart as the music trails off, and Chris thinks Peter looks good, with slightly reddened lips that his tongue is darting out to lick.

The voting feels strange because he's effectively competing against himself. He's sitting with his team for France, but can't help but keep glancing over to the UK table.

Chris is a respectable sixth, and he knows he's not going to win at this point. But the UK? Oh, the UK are leapfrogging with Ireland every couple of countries.

It comes down to the last country voting, and Chris finds himself holding his breath as Norway votes, finds himself walking over to the UK table. Ireland are one point ahead, and it really all depends who the ten and twelve points go to. Ireland get the ten, and Chris feels Peter's hand slip into his. If Norway give anyone else the twelve, then it's over. Peter's grip tightens as the Norwegian announcer finally decides the winner.

Peter's lips are warm against his, the cheering around them almost deafening as he's pulled back onstage by Peter, pulled back up to sing again, surrounded by confetti falling from above them.

And this time, when they kiss, neither of them pull back when the music ends.)


	52. Chris/Peter - Meeting in the Preserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which words are based on the following: Imagine being a male werewolf and instead of killing you, Chris takes you home and fucks you.

Imagine Chris, 25 and stalking through the Beacon Hills Preserve. He’s angry at his father, but that’s a pretty much constant emotion for him now. Gerard’s been going on about him marrying again, about Chris finding a wife and carrying on the Argent line.

He knows Gerard wants him and Victoria together. Knows that Gerard thinks adding the McCaffrey bloodline to the Argent one is nothing but a sound tactical decision. But then again, Chris also knows that his father is in full denial about Chris’ love of cock.

And it’s not like marrying Vic would be a terrible thing. She’s his best friend, for god’s sake. If he had to marry a woman then the person who trawls bars and bets with him as to who can pick up the cutest guy would definitely be the number one choice on his list. But marrying Vic, marrying _anyone_ , just feels like letting Gerard win. Feels like letting the old bastard know that he’s still got his hooks into Chris.

Which is probably why he does what he does.

He got his gun trained on the wolf, and christ, the kid looks young. Seventeen, eighteen, at the most. And when he say’s he’ll do anything if Chris just lets him go, when his tongue darts out to lick at his lower lips and he glances at Chris’ crotch, Chris lets the unspoken offer hang there.

Lets it hang there for long seconds before he asks the kid’s name.

Peter.

And, fuck, Chris knows that name. Younger brother of the Hale alpha. And Chris can feel his cock reacting. Can feel himself hardening in his jeans at the thought of fucking Talia Hale’s kid brother right underneath her nose.

Peter’s eyes widen slightly, and Chris knows he’s smelling the arousal coming from Chris right now, smelling how Chris is reacting to the thought of sinking into that tight body.

And when Chris tells him he’s got himself a deal, Peter just nods, and lets Chris lead him back to the truck.


	53. Chris/Peter - Daddy Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is Daddy kink, and some feels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabwel's tags on a Tumblr post now had me thinking epic thoughts about Chris being Peter’s sugar daddy.

I'm thinking play around with their ages slightly, so Chris is the age he is now and Peter's 19 or 20.

And Peter starts off with the "Why spend my money, when I can get other people to buy it for me" mindset. So he jerks off for old guys on cam, and spends the money they send him.

But then someone new appears. And it's different with Chris than it is with the others. Because Peter's danced around meeting any of the others face-to-face, even though they'd all wanted to, all told him that they want to be the first flesh and blood cock to open him up, instead of the silicon toys he uses when he puts on a show for them.

But when Chris mentions it, Peter finds himself agreeing, finds himself waiting in the coffee shop on Main Street two Saturdays later, tension running through him.

And then Chris walks in, and it's so much different in person. The way Chris runs his thumb over Peter's wrist when he takes his hand, the way he calls Peter baby boy.

And they start meeting regularly. And Chris starts sending presents to Peter's place before each meeting, presents that he asks Peter to wear. Which is how Peter meets Chris one day with delicate lace panties under his jeans, and with his ass opened around a plug another day.

And the most they've done so far is Chris has jerked Peter off, has jerked himself off over Peter, his come landing on Peter's face.

And Peter stops speaking to the other guys, because he doesn't find it fun any more, not when it isn't Chris.

Then one day, Chris asks Peter if he can clear a weekend, spend it all with Chris. And when Peter asks why, Chris tells him, "Because I'm going to take you apart, baby. Because I want to spend two days in bed absolutely wrecking you until you're a shivering mess."

And Peter's so hard at Chris' words, so he just nods and asks when.

-o-

And Peter thinks he knows what he's in for, because he's been playing the game for a few months now. Tongue darting out to wet his lips as he presses a finger into his ass, and bingo, that's another $100 someone just sent him.

And he's put them all off from meeting in person. Telling them he's not ready to do this face-to-face, dropping his gaze as he bites at his lower lip as he explains that he's never had sex with anyone. That, even though they've just watched him slide a dildo up his ass, he's still nervous about his first time. And they all rush to reassure him that they'll wait, that they just want their baby boy to be comfortable with them.

And Peter rolls his eyes as soon as the connection drops. Because he'll be all wide-eyed and breathy as they pay him money to call them Daddy, but if any of them serious believe he's about to drop to his knees so they can stick their wrinkly old dicks up his ass, then they can think again.

Then one day there's another message for him, another older guy wanting to be called Daddy. And, hey, if he's prepared to pay, then he can be Peter's Daddy as much as the others are.

And that's how he meets Chris Argent.

-o-

It's different with Chris. The first time they cam, Peter expects Chris to be all "Jerk your cock for Daddy," like the other guys are, but he isn't. He asks Peter about his day, about the classes he's taking at the university. And then it's getting late, they've been talking for a couple of hours, and it's not until they disconnect that Peter realises that not once did Chris ask him to get naked or jerk off or call him Daddy.

It carries on like that. Chris asking how Peter's day went, asking how his classes are going, asking if Professor Johnson returned the paper Peter was worried about, and how did he do.

And it hits Peter when he's talking to one of the others, when the first thing they asked is "How's Daddy little slut?" that they don't really care about the answer, not the real one. They don't want him to say that he's tired from the all nighter he pulled last night after he'd lost track of time while writing a paper. They don't want to know that Professor Markham's a dick, and that the hot water in the apartment went out again. They just want him to tell them he missed them, and that he's so hot for Daddy's cock.

Peter disconnects the session, ignoring the messages that ask where he went, the ones getting progressively more aggressive as he ignores each of them. Bringing up the logs of Chris' chat sessions, his eyes go directly to the phone number Chris had given him. "Just in case you ever need it, baby."

He debates about calling, his fingers hitting the start of the number several times before finally punching in all of the digits. The phone is answered within seconds, the "Argent," almost snapped out as the call is answered. And Peter disconnects the call, cursing himself for all sorts of stupid for even ringing in the first place.

After a minute Peter's phone starts to vibrate, the default ring tone Peter had never gotten around to changing floating through the air. The number on the caller display is the one Peter just called, and part of him tells him to ignore the call, to let it ring out. But the rest of him just wants to talk to someone who isn't going to tell him he needs to buck up his ideas (his dad) or that he just needs to stop antagonising his lecturers (Talia) or that he needs to be more like his sister (his mom).

He swipes his thumb across the screen. "Hi."

"Peter?" Chris voice is softer than it had been when he'd first answered Peter's call.

"Yeah."

"Is everything okay?" And jesus, Peter knows it's been a bad week when just that question makes him want to curl into a ball.

"I'm sorry for ringing, you're probably busy." Peter sidesteps the question completely.

"I'm never too busy for you, baby." And it even sounds like Chris means it. "How's your week been?"

And that's it, that's the question. The one he's meant to smile through and say Lonely without you, Daddy, but he can't. "Not good," he admits.

There's silence for a brief moment, and Peter thinks this is where Chris hangs up. That he's in this to see Peter fuck himself on his fingers, not to play therapist. And then Chris is telling him to hold on for a minute, and there's the sound of talking in the background, the sound of Chris telling someone to rearrange his afternoon meeting to tomorrow, that he's going to be busy with something more important that's just come up.

And then he's back, his voice soft and low. "Why don't you tell me about it, Peter?"

And Peter does.


	54. Chris/Peter - Hand to Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter ends up on his back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an imaginesteenwolf prompt: Imagine kicking Peter's ass at hand to hand combat and him getting turned on by it

The pack's all out in the preserve, because it's been decided that everyone, even the ones without claws, needs to learn some basic hand-to-hand.

Argent, the Sheriff, and Derek are all adjusting stances and suggesting slight amendments to style, and the sound of groaning as teenagers feint and end up on the ground rings through the air.

Peter's watching all of it from the sidelines, his earlier offer to help so easily and quickly rebuffed.

And then Argent is calling his name, saying that if Peter seriously wants to help, he can come here.

There's a moment where Peter's first reaction is to tell Argent to fuck off, to tell him that no hunter commands Peter Hale. But the sun is shining, and there's a peace swimming in Peter's blood that isn't always there. Besides, he thinks, it'll be fun to put Argent on his ass.

Only, it doesn't quite go that way. Because Argent's human, but he's also been trained to do this from the moment he took his first step. And, yes, Peter has speed and strength behind him, but Argent has years of knowledge of how to use that against him.

Peter finds himself grinning as he hits the ground, the leaves on the forest floor rustling under him as Argent straddles his thighs, the knife held close to Peter's neck.

"You're dead," Argent tells him.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Peter responds, tempted to tell Argent that he's wrong. That the blood is thundering through his ears and pooling in his cock, and that Peter's never felt more alive.

He rolls his hips upwards, his grin widening when he finds an answering hardness in Argent's jeans.

There's a noise of disgust that sounds like Stiles, and the boy should be careful unless he wants Peter to comment exactly how much he and young Mr McCall have been smelling of each other recently. Their scents are so intertwined that every wolf can smell it, but Peter's sure Stiles' father has no idea that his son is rutting with his best friend every chance they get.

But the sound does what it intended, breaks whatever spell had fallen over Argent (and if Peter's going to get the man's cock inside him, and he _will_ , he really should start thinking of him as Chris), and the hunter's scrambling back, moving away from Peter as quickly as he can.

Sighing, Peter gets to his feet, brushing the crumbled leaves off his clothes, and damn it, this sweater's cashmere and that stain had better come out. He watches as Argent moves away, as he goes back to instructing the teens of the pack and pointedly ignoring Peter.

But that's fine, because he was just as hard as Peter was when he had him pinned, and Argent may want to deny it now, but he can't do it forever. And Peter has time, he can wait.


	55. Derek/Peter - Peter submitting to Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter finally gives in to what he wants

He shouldn't want this, shouldn't feel this hunger inside him. Not for Derek, not for his own nephew. He shouldn't feel his breath quicken and his heart race when Derek looks at him, but he does.

And he tries so hard to ignore it, tries so hard to deny the urge to drop to his knees when he's next to Derek. He buries it inside him, masks the feeling in a myriad of dark clubs and the voices of strangers. Masks it in the harsh touches that flay his skin and the sharp bitter scents of one wrong person after another.

And it works. It works right up until the night Derek's waiting for Peter back at his apartment. Right up until the moment Derek cups Peter's face in his hand.

"You can't keep doing this, Peter."

Peter knows that Derek can smell it on him, smell the blood and the sweat and the come that belongs a man whose name Peter doesn't even know.

And his wolf is howling inside him to turn into the touch, to acknowledge the single word that's been pounding through him since he looked at Derek and thought _Mine--_

But the ghost of Talia lies heavy across him, so all Peter does is pull away. "Go home, Derek."

He steps away, heading towards the bathroom, towards the shower that's calling him, and the water that will wash over him in and carry the night away in a swirl of heat. But there's no sound behind him, no footsteps heading towards the door.

"Peter, stop."

Derek's voice runs through him and Peter's helpless to disobey. Derek closes the distance between them in two steps, and then there are fingers running through Peter's hair, and he only just banks down on the rumbling purr he can feel welling in him.

"I want you to go and shower, Peter. I want you to get rid of the scent of that place."

Peter finds himself nodding.

"You can't go back there, Peter. Please."

And it's wrong, Derek saying that. Because Peter's the one who should be begging, the one who should be on his knees.

"Tell me you won't go back."

Peter shakes his head, and steps foot over the abyss that's taunted him for so long. "I won't."

-o-

He showers quickly, not bothering to dress when he's finished. Derek's waiting for him in the bedroom, and his nephew's breath hitches when he sees Peter, naked and bare to everything Derek wants.

There's silence surrounding them, and for a moment, Peter feels too raw, too exposed, and then Derek is there, pressed behind him.

"You don't need to go to strangers, Peter, not any more."

Derek's words are soft, careful, and Peter wonders if Derek knows, wonders if Derek understands that the only reason Peter went to his knees for man after man was that he couldn't go to his knees for Derek.

There's a soft kiss on Peter's shoulder, a light trail of lips as Derek murmurs words against Peter's skin.

"You're mine, aren't you, Peter. Please tell you are."

And Peter nods, because he's denied it for so long, but he can't deny it now, not in the face of Derek's hesitancy. Because if there's anything Derek should be sure of it's that Peter is his, that Peter will always be his.

Fingers move over Peter's skin, edging down further towards his ass. He lifts his hand, biting into the back of it and muffling his moan as fingers nudge into his cleft, the tips pressing against his asshole.

And Derek's free hand moves, fingers wrapping around Peter's wrist and gently pulling his hand away from his face.

"Don't. I want to hear you. I want to hear how I make you feel."

Derek's fingers are rubbing softly over Peter's hole, and he doesn't swallow the whine that's rising in his throat as he presses back, trying to get them to dip inside him.

"Please--"

He wants Derek inside him, needs Derek inside him. Needs to be held and claimed and knotted.

"Ssh," soothes Derek. "We'll get there. I promise."

And Peter just nods, and lets Derek lead him home.


	56. Chris/Peter - Morning Blowjob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter is awake, and Chris is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an imaginesteenwolf's prompt of: Imagine waking Chris up in the morning with a blowjob

Peter loves mornings like this, where the sunlight is only just creeping in through the gap in the drapes and Chris is still next to him, all sleep warm and puffing out soft gusts of air with each breath.

Chris sleeps heavily, and Peter wonders what Gerard would have said if he'd seen his son like this, naked and vulnerable and with a wolf in his bed. Wonders what the old bastard would have done once he realised that the history between the Argents and the Hales didn't end in blood and fire, but rather, with Chris reaching out and Peter reaching back and both of them deciding that the past was better left where it was.

Peter twists as he looks over to the clock on the bedside cabinet. It's early, too early, and Peter's wolf is whining at him to curl back up next to his mate and go back to sleep. But there aren't many mornings when Peter is awake first, and he intends to take full advantage of that.

He slips under the covers, sliding partway down the bed. It's dark and hot, their captured body heat lending an oppressive air and surrounding Peter in the scent of both of them. He lets his eyesight shift slightly, his wolf bleeding into his vision.

Chris' cock is lying soft against his thigh, thick and perfect. Peter reaches out slowly, trailing a fingertip lightly down the length of flesh, feeling Chris twitch slightly under his touch. Pulling his hand back from Chris' cock, Peter carefully nudges one of Chris' legs until there's enough space for him to settle between them, his own calves hanging off the end of the bed and causing a shiver to run through him as the cool air starts to steal the warmth from them.

Using two fingers, Peter gently lifts Chris' cock away from his thigh, licking at the head. He curls his tongue around, dragging it over the warm skin, before dipping inside the slit, teasingly. Shifting forward, he opens his lips further, taking the head of Chris' cock fully into his mouth, feeling Chris start to harden, and lapping at the precome that's only just starting to drip onto his tongue.

There's a soft moan, muffled through the covers over Peter's head, but he knows Chris isn't totally awake, not yet. His mate's body is still too relaxed for sleep to have given him up fully.

Wrapping a hand loosely around Chris' cock, Peter jerks him gently, feeling the length harden further, blood filling Chris' dick to fit into Peter's grip. Peter moves forward a little bit more, taking more of Chris into his mouth. He flicks at him with his tongue, each motion bringing a sharp burst of precome.

There's a growing tension in Chris' thighs as Peter bobs his head up and down, but it's the fingers that tangle themselves in Peter's hair, loose and careless, that signal sleep has finally given up enough of a hold on Chris for him to realise what Peter is doing.

Chris is fully hard in Peter's mouth now, hot and heavy across his tongue, and each sweep over Chris' cock brings with it a tightening of the fingers in his hair, and words muted by the fabric over him. But Peter is intimately attuned to Chris, has been for more years than either of them have ever admitted to anyone other than themselves. And even if there had been a cacophony of noise, Peter would still have heard the "Yes--" and the "Fuck--" and the "Peter--" Would still have heard the words ground out in sleep heavy molasses as Chris' hands cup his head.

He scrapes the fingers of his free hand over Chris' hip, nails too sharp to be entirely human scoring light lines and signing Peter's name across a hunter's skin for any to see. Chris' fingers tighten their grip, sharp and sudden, and there's a familiar twitch in Chris' balls a second before Chris groans, before Peter's mouth is filled in a hot rush.

He swallows Chris down, licking at him until Chris has given Peter all he can. He suckles at Chris' cock for long moments after Chris has finished coming, until there's a tug on his hair, until his name is spoken in low tones.

Peter lets Chris' softening cock slip from mouth, lowering it back to rest on Chris' thigh, spit-slick and sated. He kisses his way up Chris' stomach, Chris' chest, until he's turning away from the now bright light sneaking into the room to meet Chris' eyes.

Chris smiles at him, and Peter finds himself drawn forward, finds himself pressing his lips to Chris'. Chris' tongue licks at his lower lip until Peter lets him in, lets him taste himself in Peter's mouth.

It's slow and it's languid, and as one of Chris' hands starts to move downwards towards Peter's own cock, he thinks it really is the perfect way to start the day.


	57. Chris/Peter - After Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is getting dressed, and Peter isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an imaginesteenwolf prompt: Imagine Peter watching you get dressed after sex

Peter's lying in bed, watching as Chris pulls his jeans over his ass and not hiding the appreciative leer.

"I don't know why you're bothering, Christopher. It's blatantly obvious you'd rather stay here with me instead of running off on whatever foolhardy thing Mr McCall texted you about."

"There's a rogue in the preserve, Peter," Chris comments, fastening the jeans and reaching down to pick his shirt up off the floor. "Which you'd know, if you checked your phone."

"Is there now?" Peter asks lightly, pointedly ignoring the way his phone is beeping to indicate there's a message waiting for him. "Then why don't you let the young and intrepid members of our merry band handle it. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"You know," Chris says carefully, "if we both went with them we could probably have it handled and be back here within the hour. Whereas, if I have to go alone, it might take considerably longer and I'll probably be far too tired to come back here and fuck you until you can't remember your own name. I'll just have to go home and rest. For days. Alone."

Peter's eyes narrow. "You play a sneaky game, Argent."

And Chris just smiles as he watches Peter finally get up and start to get dressed.


	58. Chris/Peter/Derek - Christmas Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's Christmas morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an imaginesteenwolf prompt: Imagine being in a relationship with both Derek and Chris Argent and having an early Christmas morning threesome with them

It's a lazy morning, the sun shining in through the windows, and glinting on the snow outside. It's been snowing in Beacon Hills for the past three days, a blanket of white covering everything in time for Christmas. Derek knows that the rest of the pack will descend on them soon, but for now, there is silence in the house broken only by the soft breaths of the men next to him.

Peter is between him and Chris, his face turned into the pillow and a leg thrown over Chris'. Chris is on the other side of the bed, his eyelids fluttering slightly as he starts to wake up.

"Hey," Derek says quietly when Chris' eyes finally open. "Merry Christmas."

Chris lifts a hand, reaching out to cup Derek's face. "Merry Christmas," he replies. "And happy birthday."

For so long Derek hasn't wanted to celebrate, either Christmas or his birthday, the day reminding him of everything he'd lost. But now he has reasons to enjoy the day. Two of them in particular.

"What time are we being invaded?" The mumble comes from Peter, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Not until midday," Derek answers.

"And is it midday yet?" Peter asks.

"No, we've still got about three hours," Chris tells him.

"Then why are we awake?"

And Peter's never been a morning person, needing at least two cups of coffee before he even wants to interact with people.

"Well," Chris says, "we could go to sleep. Or we could give Derek a birthday morning to remember."

Peter's head lifts up, and he peers at Chris. "You have my attention."

"Why don't you--" The words trail off as Chris nods towards where the covers are tenting slightly at Derek's crotch.

Peter grins, and moves, wriggling under the covers. There's a hand on Derek's side and then, oh-- Peter's mouth is hot as it wraps around Derek's cock, sucking him gently.

Chris moves closer, wrapping his fingers in Derek's hair and tugging him towards him, pressing his lips against Derek's. And the kiss is light and careful, Chris' tongue lapping at Derek's lower lip until he opens his mouth to let Chris in.

"You want to fuck him, Derek?" Chris asks, breaking the kiss. "Want your uncle to ride you?"

Derek nods, because, yes, he wants that. Wants to feel Peter tight around him.

Chris tugs the covers off, revealing Peter, with his lips wrapped around Derek's cock.

Peter looks up, grinning as Chris reaches out and grabs the lube off the bedside cabinet, holding it up. Pulling his mouth off Derek's cock, Peter takes the lube off Chris, moving to straddle Derek. Squeezing some lube out, Peter reaches behind himself and slides two fingers into his ass. And Derek loves watching this, loves seeing Peter finger himself open for either him or Chris to fuck. Loves seeing the look on Peter's face as he stretches himself.

Taking the lube back, Chris slicks up his own hand before wrapping it around Derek's cock. He jerks Derek slowly, slicking the lube over him.

"Hold him steady for me," says Peter, lowering himself until Derek's cockhead is at his asshole.

Chris wraps his fingers around the base of Derek's cock, holding him while Peter starts to sink down.

And, fuck, Derek's never going to stop loving this, the way Peter's body opens around him. The way there's that moment when Derek thinks it's not going to happen, that Peter's too tight for him to get in. And then his cockhead pops inside, is gripped by tight and warm. Derek's cock is covered by the heat of Peter's body as Peter lowers himself carefully, until he's sitting on Derek, Derek's cock in him to the root.

Peter leans forward, catching Derek's lips in a kiss as he starts to ride him. Reaching out, Chris wraps his hand around Peter's cock and starts to jerk him, moving in the same pace Peter is riding Derek's cock.

And Derek isn't going to last long, he can already feel it building in his balls, that sweet tightness he feels when his orgasm is starting to crest within him.

"Come on, Peter," Chris encourages, "Come around Derek's dick."

All it takes is another few strokes of Chris' hand, and then Peter's coming, clenching around Derek's cock as his come spurts over Chris' fingers, onto Derek's stomach. And it's all Derek's needs before he's coming, filling Peter's ass with his come.

"Fuck–" And there's the sound of skin against skin, with Chris' panting breaths before the scent of his orgasm is sharp in the air, and the warm splatters hit Derek's stomach to mix with Peter's come.

There's silence in the air, the breathing of the three of them merging together. It's quiet and it's perfect. It's everything Derek wants and there's nowhere else he'd rather be.


	59. Chris/Peter - Peter being a distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris is trying to watch TV, and Peter is trying to distract him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for an imaginesteenwolf prompt: Imagine Peter growling dirty talk in your ear while you're trying to watch TV. Finally you cave in and kiss him, which leads to rough passionate sex.
> 
> There's no kissing, but there are buttplugs.

"Chris--"

Chris very carefully ignores the soft call of his name.

"Chris--"

Because Peter knows Chris has been waiting to see this episode. That it's the season finale, and it's been leaked that someone is going to die, but Chris doesn't know who.

"Christopher--"

There's a slight annoyed tone to Peter's voice now, but Chris is adamant that he won't give in. Because he knows that the moment he looks over at Peter, then Peter's won, and it'll only be minutes until they're naked and in the bedroom. And whereas that's normally exactly the place Chris wants to be with Peter, he's been a fan of this show since the beginning, and Peter knows that Monday nights are nights that Chris spends with pizza, beer, and the TV.

There's a quiet huff from Peter, and then silence.

Thank god, Chris thinks.

It doesn't last.

"I opened myself up before I got here, you know, Chris. Lay on my bed and slid my fingers inside myself."

Chris can feel his eye start to twitch. Because if he thinks about it, then he'll see it in his mind. See Peter, naked and on his bed, lube slick fingers sliding into his ass. See Peter stretching himself out, ready to take Chris' cock. And, god, what just happened on the screen?

"I pressed my fingers into my tight hole and opened myself for the new toys that arrived at mine this morning. I'm wearing one of them now."

Chris wonders what it is. Peter's got a chest full of toys, plugs and dildos and vibrators, that he loves to play with. Loves to lie on the bed and have Chris fuck him and then plug him up, or fuck himself with a dildo while Chris watches, directing him.

"It's a new glass plug," Peter says, conversationally, like he's not talking about the plug that's up his ass at this very moment. "All purple and blue swirls. Very pretty. But that's not the reason I bought it. Do you know why I bought it, Christopher?"

Chris doesn't answer, but Peter carries on anyway.

"Because it's thick. I had to get myself up to four fingers before I even tried putting it in. And the amount of lube I used. I was so sticky that I had to have a shower before I came over here."

Chris' nails dig into the palm of his hand as he resolutely keeps his eyes on the screen, even though he has no idea why the characters are now in a forest and what the hell just happened.

"Can you imagine it, Chris. All the water cascading down over my body, and me, running my hands over my skin to wash away all the lube. My cock was so hard. You know why? Because this plug, oh god, Chris, this plug. It presses right on my prostate, and every time I move it's like my cock gets that little bit harder."

There's a moan from the other end of the sofa, and the rustle of clothes that Chris is pretty sure is Peter undoing his jeans and getting his cock out. But he's still not looking.

"And since you weren't there to help me, I had to get myself off. So, there I was, wet and naked and water running all over me, and I just had to jerk myself off. My cock all hard and red, and it only took a few strokes before I was coming, white hot pleasure running through me."

Chris recognises the sound of Peter licking his hand before there's the slick slap of skin against skin.

"But it wasn't enough, Chris. Because the plug's still in me, and it's still pressing in all the right places. And on the drive over here, the vibrations of the car went straight to my cock."

There's a pause, and then--

"I saw the Sheriff's cruiser on the way over, and I wondered what would happen if he stopped me. Me, all hard and wanting, and Sheriff Stilinski, oh so manly in his uniform, with that body hidden under those ridiculously ill fitting trousers. Do you think he works out, Christopher? I do. After all, he needs to keep fit in order to chase down all those teenagers pickpocketing little old grannies in the high street. Maybe he'll let me watch sometime. Watch him lifting all those weights, watch as the sweat runs down his neck. Watch as his thighs--"

Peter's words snap off as Chris reaches out and tugs him over, Peter's hand still wrapped around his hard cock.

"Peter, if you don't stop talking about John Stilinski's thighs right the fuck now, you're going to regret it," Chris growls softly. Because, yes, the Sheriff is an attractive man, but Peter is his.

"Really, Christopher?" Peter smirks. "But the Sheriff's thighs are so--"

There's a squawk as Chris stands up suddenly. He hefts Peter off the couch and over his shoulder, his hand coming up to grab one of Peter's ass cheeks, his fingertips brushing against the glass plug that Peter is indeed wearing.

"Oh, come on, Chris, I'm hardly a sack of potatoes," Peter complains.

"Shut. Up." Chris punctuates each word with a tap to the base of Peter's plug, the resulting moan from his wolf making Chris grin. "You wanted my attention, and now you've got it."

Heading out of the lounge and towards the bedroom, Peter still squirming over his shoulder, Chris spares a glance back to the TV, where the group on the screen are heading into a house and the ominous music playing indicating that something's about to happen. And he really wants to know what's going to happen, but he has a hard and needy Peter in his hands, and fuck it, he can always catch it on repeat.


	60. Chris/Peter - The Scent of Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the scent of smoke is always with Peter

Smoke. It's a scent that's been with you since the fire. Always there, underlying everything around you. It's the first thing you remember when you woke from the coma. There was the pull of the moon and the scent of smoke, and nothing else.

It's been with you ever since, the only constant in your life. There's no family and no pack, not any more. There's nothing but the most basic threads connecting you to the people who share your blood. The most tenuous of links to those who claim themselves as pack.

And you learn to live with it, learn to ignore the smell of the smoke that covers everything you touch. Learn to look past it.

You stick to the edges of the pack, not touching, not scenting, every part of you screaming that this is a shallow parody of what it should be, of what you had. (You think back to mornings when your sister touched each and every person around the breakfast table, hands on the back of necks, and the scent of the alpha on all of you. Remember the evenings where the pack was spread throughout the room, legs tangled and arms reaching out.)

You watch as your nephew tries so badly to be the alpha his mother was. Watch as he brings in wolf after wolf, all of them broken in ways you'll never be. But somehow it works, somehow they become each other's strength, become the glue that pastes over the cracks. And you think that maybe this group of misfit wolves has a chance of being a pack.

And still you stay on the edges, watching. Which is why it takes you so long to realise that you can't smell the smoke any more. You can smell the chemical strawberry of Erica's lip gloss, and the leather of the jacket Derek is wearing. You can smell the apple of the shampoo Isaac uses, and the floral of the perfume Lydia is wearing. You can smell the gun oil ingrained in the skin of Sheriff Stilinski, and the vanilla of the moisturiser that Melissa favours. And there's nothing different from any other pack meeting, nothing different from the last time you sat on these stairs and watched the interactions of the group fumbling their way forward.

Nothing different, except–

You look at Chris Argent, proud and defiant, and surrounded by his daughter and her friends, by the group of teenagers who have declared the Argents part of the pack.

And it pains you, that the remainder of the family responsible for destroying yours is sitting in your nephew's loft, in Derek's den, laughing and smiling and acting like they deserve to be there.

And the scent gets stronger as you look at Chris, gunpowder and whiskey and the spice of the cologne he wears tickling at your nose.

The smoke comes back to you after you leave the loft, and you can't stop yourself from looking around, from trying to see if you're surrounded by fire. But there's nothing but the memory of ash that accompanies you home.

You're in the forest the next time the smoke vanishes, checking the preserve from one end to the other at the request of the Sheriff. You meet up with the rest of the group next to the cars, watching as Chris walks out from the trees.

"What is it, Hale?" Chris' voice is rough as he snaps out the question, and you don't even realise you've been looking at him until he speaks.

"Nothing, Argent."

But it is. It's everything.

It's the way your wolf purrs inside you when you smell that mix of scents that's uniquely Chris. It's the way the ghosts of your family are finally quiet when he's around.

And you wonder if this is the fates finally getting their revenge on you. That the one person who makes your wolf settle, who makes your past quieten down, is a hunter, is an Argent.

He knows that you're watching him, his eyes meet yours too many times for him not to. And he finally approaches you, finally demands to know what's going on.

So you tell him. You tell him that the smoke goes when he's around, that the scents that run through you are his and his alone.

And you think he's going to laugh, going to turn and leave. But he doesn't. There's silence from him for long moments before he finally speaks, before he tells you tomorrow, the coffee shop on Main.

And you don't think that one date is going to wipe out years of blood and fire and pain. You don't think it will, but you think it's a start. And that's good enough for now.


	61. Chris/Peter - Imagine a fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris and Peter argue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt: Imagine getting into an argument with Chris and afterwards having mind blowing make up sex

Imagine being Peter Hale.

Imagine not actually knowing what the fight is about. Just that one minute you’re talking and the next minute you’re yelling that he’s nothing but a bastard hunter and he’s yelling that you’re nothing but a psycho wolf.

Imagine that the scent of anger is in the air, but it’s overlaid with arousal, overlaid with need and want and desire.

Imagine that both of you are hard, cocks straining behind denim as you’re so close to each other you can feel the warmth of his breath as he tells you he has no idea what persuaded him to stick his dick in crazy like you.

Imagine your eyes flash as you answer that it’s because he fucking likes it, that it’s his final act of rebellion against the daddy he’s trying so hard to deny.

Imagine that there’s silence for a moment, harsh breaths as you stare at each other.

And then imagine that you’re both moving, mouths crashing together as he pushes you back against the wall, pinning you.

Imagine him urging you to turn around as you open your jeans, pushing them to just under your ass before placing your hands against the wall and bracing yourself.

Imagine spit slick fingers pushing their way into you, stretching you roughly.

Imagine that he opens his jeans just enough to get his hard cock out before pressing into you.

Imagine the rasp of the zipper on his jeans biting into your skin as he fucks you.

Imagine demanding more, harder, faster.

Imagine his hand reaching around to jerk you until you’re coming, white splattering against the wall.

Imagine his teeth biting into your shoulder as he comes, filling you.

Imagine no words being needed as he pulls out, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck as he does so.

Imagine neither of you speaking as you sort your clothes, tucking yourselves away.

Imagine knowing that, even with the harsh words and the fact that you know it shouldn’t work, you’re both willing to fight for it anyway.


	62. Chris/Peter - Peter in red lace panties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris buys red lace

Chris buys the delicate red lace one day when he's in town. The sales assistant asks if he needs any help, like she's used to men standing there and being not exactly sure what to buy for their wives. But Chris isn't buying for his wife, isn't buying for any woman, and the reason he's running his fingers over the lace is that he's imaging Peter in it, cock hard and precome darkening the lace.

The bag is small enough to fold and fit into Chris' pocket, and he keeps it there until he sees Peter, until he's standing in the wolf's den. He hands the bag over to Peter, asks him to wear them.

Peter takes the bag, and Chris thinks that he'll go and put them on now, thinks that he'll watch as Peter walks out, the fabric slid over his legs, his cock tucked inside. He thinks that Peter will bite at his lower lip at the way it feels against his newly shaved balls. And he wants Peter against him, wearing nothing but the lace as he writhes against Chris' crotch, pressing against the hardness hidden behind Chris' jeans.

But Peter doesn't put them on, just places the bag onto the coffee table and pushes Chris onto the couch.

"So, the big bad hunter has a kink for lace," Peter mocks as he straddles Chris. "You wanna finger me while I'm wearing them, pull them to one side and slide into me."

It's a question that isn't, and Chris doesn't bother answering. Instead, he tangles his fingers in Peter's hair, tugging him down to him before latching onto Peter's neck and biting hard. Peter moans against him, and neither of them speak for the rest of the night.

It’s a few days later, during a pack meeting that Chris realises Peter’s wearing them. There’s a tantalising flash of red as Peter reaches out for something and his shirt rides up just enough for Chris to see.

And Chris is sure that the wolves can all smell the arousal coming from him, but he ignores the glances coming his way. He knows the rest of the pack are aware of the thing going on between him and Peter, the way they push and pull at each other, the marks that they see on Chris and know have already healed on Peter.

They’re the first to leave the meeting, the teenagers all sticking around to watch a movie on the ridiculously large TV that now takes up space in Derek’s loft (one of a dozen changes that’s been made since Jordan moved in).

Chris barely waits until the elevator door is down before wrapping his hand around the back of Peter’s neck. He pulls Peter closer, the heat of Peter's breath against his cheek.

“Tell me you’re driving straight back to mine before I bend you over your car and fuck you right here.” Because Chris is hard and throbbing behind his jeans, and he's going to be buried inside Peter before the night is out, regardless. Whether that's in Chris' bed or over the hood of Peter's car is the wolf's choice.

“And if I don’t?” There’s an undertone in Peter’s voice that says he’s wondering what Chris would do if he refused, wondering if Chris would come after him.

“Then I’ll chase you down and fuck you wherever I catch you.” Because Peter needs to know, to understand, that Chris will always come for him. That along the way something became something more, and now Peter is under Chris' skin, like an itch that Chris is never going to be rid of, never _wants_ to be rid of.

Peter grins before pinning Chris to the wall of the elevator, pressing their mouths together in a harsh kiss before moving back. There's a streak of red along Peter's mouth and Chris can feel the answering throb where Peter's fang sliced through his lower lip.

The elevator comes to a juddering halt and Peter drags the door up before stepping out. “Then bring it on, Argent.”

And then he’s gone.

Chris gives his wolf a five minute head start before bringing up an app on his phone, the blinking red light showing exactly where the tracker he has in Peter’s car is heading. It’s going in the direction of the Preserve, and Chris knows that means Peter wants it hard tonight. Wants to be tracked and pinned and fucked until all he knows is Chris’ name and the way Chris feels inside him.

Chris smiles as he slowly heads to his truck. Let the hunt begin.


	63. Chris/Peter - Chris taking Peter's virginity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wants Chris to be his first

It's when they're both young, when they think they can take on their families, their histories, the world. Chris books a hotel room. It's more than he can really afford, but he's been saving up ever since Peter told him he wanted Chris to be his first. Because Peter deserves room services and sheets where he can't smell the last three occupants on them. Peter deserves being fed candy from an overpriced minibar, and tiny bottles of shampoo that Chris can wash his wolf's hair with because the shower's big enough for both of them. They can't stop kissing as they get out of the shower, wrapping huge fluffy towels around themselves as they move from the bathroom to the bedroom.

Chris' hair is dripping down his back, but he leaves it, because drying it means reaching out for another towel, means taking his hands off Peter. They stagger to the bed, kisses against skin, tumbling down onto a mattress they sink into. Chris gently pulls the towel off Peter, dropping it over the side of the bed, his own following it. He lifts Peter's leg, pressing a kiss to Peter's ankle, slowly working his way up Peter's calf, his thigh. And then he presses a kiss against Peter's hip.

"Chris, please."

Peter's cock is straining, but Chris ignores it, continuing to kiss his way over Peter's stomach, over his chest. Soft, butterfly kisses over Peter's neck and face, until Chris reaches his lips.

"I love you." Chris says the words because he can't keep them inside. His hand moves to Peter's cock, jerking him slowly. He trails a finger down Peter's length one last time before he reaches back, picking up the tube lying on the bedside cabinet.

Slick fingers press into Peter's body, twisting gently. Peter's babbling softly, asking Chris for more. Chris fingers him until he feels Peter relax around him. He slicks his own cock, telling Peter to breathe as he pushes inside.

And god, Peter feels perfect around him.

"How does it feel?" Chris asks. Because he wants this to be good for Peter, wants it to be nothing like his own first time, quick and meaningless and over in seconds.

"I thought it would hurt," Peter admits. "But it doesn't."

Chris presses a kiss against the back of Peter's neck, waiting until Peter says that it's okay to move.

He pulls out slowly, carefully, until only the head of his cock is left in Peter. He presses back in, steady motions as he fucks Peter. His hand is back on Peter's cock, jerking him in time with Chris' thrusts into his body.

Peter's making the most delicious sounds Chris has ever heard; soft, breathy noises that could be a moan and could be Chris' name. He wants Peter to come while Chris is still inside him, wants to feel the way Peter will clench around him.

He speeds up his motions on Peter's cock, until Peter's keening, loud and perfect, as he tumbles over the edge, spilling wet and hot onto Chris' fingers.

He grips Chris tightly as he comes, his body pulling Chris' own orgasm from him. Chris isn't wearing a condom; Peter wanted to feel him fully inside him. And he knows what that means, that Peter's wolf wanted Chris' scent on him so completely.

Chris groans as he comes, feeling himself pulse inside Peter. He doesn't pull out as he softens, staying inside Peter and pressing featherlight kisses over every bit of Peter's skin that he can reach.

"I love you," he says, over and over, the words tumbling out of him.

Peter reaches back, his fingers wrapping around Chris' hip, claws digging into Chris' skin.

"Mine," Peter says, his words soft, heavy with satiation.

"Yours," Chris replies. "Always."


End file.
